


The System is Rigged

by allislaughter



Series: Rigged Games [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Illustrations, M/M, POV Third Person, Poetry, Post-Game(s), Present Tense, Trans Male Character, check chapter notes for content warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 82,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allislaughter/pseuds/allislaughter
Summary: A man wakes up in a vault with no memory how he got there, accidentally assumes the identity of a pre-war murderer, and decides the best course of action is to prove "his" innocence and that he was framed instead of admit the mistake in identity. Rig Miller, a man in a horrible flamingo shirt and a mystery to solve and no idea how he's going to do it, relies on the help of his new "friends". Acquaintances really. Various companions who keep him around for some reason: Echo Gray, the woman who took down the Institute; synth detective Nick Valentine; and some chronic liar named Deacon.Rating/Warnings updated 5/16/2020 (from not rated/chooses not to warn) to reflect the author now knowing what rating/warnings apply.
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Original Male Character(s), Nick Valentine/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Rigged Games [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687249
Comments: 85
Kudos: 25





	1. This Terrible, Stupid Man Should Not Be Left Alone or He Will Die

**Author's Note:**

> For full disclosure, I never actually played any of the Fallout games, but I experience them vicariously through my friend glowstickia (on AO3 and tumblr; follow her fallout blog @falloutglow) and so have her help in writing this story to be as canon compliant/in-character as I can, but in the end this is for my fun and self-indulgence, so if I get anything wrong that accidentally slips past Glow then, to be honest, I'm not all that worried about it.
> 
> Also: This fic takes place following Glow's playthrough with her original character, Samara "Echo" Gray, who is not the Sole Survivor in her version of the story but is still the one to take on the Sole Survivor's role. Glow has plans to write Echo's story, so some things that happen in this fic might contradict future fics from Glow.
> 
> Unless otherwise noted, assume all chapters were written with Glow's help. Echo is Glow's OC, and other OCs of hers might pop up and will be noted appropriately. All other OCs, including Rig Miller, are mine unless otherwise noted. Tags will be added as appropriate/thought of, and please let me know if you feel it needs to be tagged in a certain manner I haven't thought of. Thank you, and enjoy.
> 
> Edit 11/24/2020: For those of you who may be reading this fic again or for those of you who noticed I may have made a mistake with the dates: After talking with Glow we decided to push the canon date of this fic from 2288 to 2289, the year following the Institute being taken down, so I'm in the process of updating the text to match that new date in this fic and related fics. If you notice anything I missed, feel free to send a message to @glitchvault74 on Tumblr letting me know which chapter/story and the scene/line if possible, or otherwise comment on the appropriate chapter/story here on AO3. Thank you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After over 200 years, a man wakes up in alone in a vault and wanders out into the Commonwealth. This sounds familiar, doesn't it?

A dreamless black, a mind unaware, a world outside his little box slowly succumbing to entropy... The rust eats through an iron railing... It creaks, whines, unstable.

It crashes, ringing in a sharp note like a bell.

He jumps in his box, eyes flying open as “my tea!” flies from his lips, followed prompt by a _thud_ “Ow!” of his head hitting the top of his enclosure. He blinks, vision blurry and mind foggy. This isn’t his home. What’s going on...?

He pushes on the ceiling above him, but there’s no give. He scoots to one side and pushes on the wall. It falls open, and he rolls out and lands on his knees with a hiss from the dull pain now living in his knees. He sits there for a moment until it passes and then climbs to his feet.

Dark... Some light, some faint glows. He wanders towards it like a moth to a flame. Strange world... Unfocused vision... A dream...?

He lands at a terminal and hits a key and stares at the random string of characters.

What the heck is this supposed to be...?

He clicks at random, squinting and frustrated as he can’t process whatever is being said besides the sure sign he got locked out temporarily. Try again later... He wanders away in the meantime.

He shuffles like the undead through... wherever he is. Slow, lethargic, jerky yet dragging. Like he hasn’t moved in ages... Something’s odd here, but the world is quiet and still.

Another terminal. Or the same one...? He stares at the text, trying to puzzle out what it is. Letters correct?? No letters correct??? What?????

He gives up after the third try and keeps looking. There’s weird shapes that look vaguely person shaped. It’s too hard to focus...

Third terminal. Or perhaps a second after the same one twice. Perhaps the same one thrice. ...No, the room is different. It’s a new one. He can sort of make out the words and things this time... He selects something. Stares and puzzles out another one... He goes through his four attempts. He can try again later. He yawns and stumbles off, still unthinking...

He sees a sign, written in letters larger than he is tall, higher than he can reach... “Vault 113 - Welcome”. Huh. Weird....

One more terminal... He stares at the words for several seconds before making his selection. He narrows it down by the third attempt. Hacked. He’s in. New words, too many for him to understand. He selects something at random, something something words he’s too out of it to read or whatever. He stares helplessly at the screen, waiting for something to happen of its own accord.

Something happens.

Something clicks nearby. Hisses. Shifts. Light pours in and he shields his eyes but heads for it. Death? Is that you? Finally come to—

He walks out into a world he’s unfamiliar with. It’s bright, empty, quiet. In the sunlight he looks down and sees the blue jumpsuit he’s dressed in. The weird, bulky thing on his wrist. He blinks and shakes his wrist, trying to loosen the bulky thing and make it fall off. It doesn’t budge. He pulls at it, pushes, messes with the buttons and knobs and ends up with random words and sounds he can’t process. He gives up when some numbers at the bottom flash 01.01.1970 and 00:00. He’ll figure it out later.

He walks along, a lone wanderer, in search of others. Hopefully not a sole survivor... Where is he...? Where _was_ he...? The last thing he remembers... At home, with his roommate... At home, roommate gone... Ushered to leave... Something...

He comes across rusted metal giants... Structures and old machines, worn away by time. Old railroad tracks, abandoned railway cars... He keeps going, mind waking slowly, slowly, slowly...

He stops and stares as he sees a group of people approaching... the weird animals with them. The... The... The _things_ they’re carrying, whatever those are... His head hurts... He holds it and crouches down, in sudden pain... What’s going on...?

“...Hey?” someone calls at him, from a safe distance. He looks up and sees a woman watching. “Are you okay?”

He stares. “...wha—” His voice cracks and he stops himself. He holds his throat, feeling like it’s the first time he’s spoken in days...

“You’re from a Vault?” she asks, slowly approaching. “How long have you been out...?”

“Vault?” he asks. “Been...?”

“You need help getting somewhere safe...?”

“...Ye—” His voice croaks again. “Yeah...”

“Can you walk?”

He stands again and stumbles forward, but manages to regain his balance and walks slightly more steadily. “Yeah. Yeah...”

The woman watches him, uncertain. “What’s your name? You know anyone we can help you find?”

He squints. What’s his...? Help him...? “Rig... Miller.... Rig Miller.”

“Rig?” she asks. “Well, alright, Rig. You can head with us to the next settlement. You look like you need a tutorial on how things work out here.”

He blinks. What? His name isn’t— The woman already turns around and lets him follow, and she’s calling to the others that “This is Rig” and, oh, wonderful, it’s too late to correct the mix-up.

What _happened?_ This is not the world he remembers... He glances at the woman. ...That’s a weird looking gun.

...Vaults sound familiar... What were they for again...? He was in a vault... 113... 

“You got any skills, Rig?” the woman asks.

“No,” he says without thinking.

“...Well, shit, son, you’re not going to be much use around here if you don’t learn some.”

“Just woke up,” he says. “Bad at brain thinking. Everything’s blubber.”

She gives him a look. “Either you’re not sober, or you’ve got fifteen concussions all at once.”

“Yes,” he says. He hesitates. “...No? Fiv-got.... Six at most...”

She chuckles once, short but amused. “Next settlement should have a doc. We’ll have ‘em look you over if you can last that long. We’re not going to go out of our way to protect you, so don’t do anything stupid.”

“Okay...”

He walks along, somehow keeping up the entire time. The sun passes across the sky, and he finds himself waking up more as they go. The woman walks with him the entire time, telling him about the history of things, catching him up on everything he doesn’t know about, which is quite a few things. There was a war, no one won, everything was thrown into nuclear hellfire, and now it’s 2289, and something or something?? He soaks it all up like a sponge already laden with water, but stays quiet for the entire walk save for small indications whether or not he knows things she asks him if he knows. He knows nothing. He’s an ignorant puppy pal friend about everything. They eventually stop to rest for the night.

“You think he understood anything you were rambling about today with that concussion of his?” another caravan member asks, passing food to his helpful teacher of the day.

She splits her meal in half and hands him some. He shakes his head. Not hungry. She frowns but shrugs and keeps his portion. “Well, if he didn’t, there’s others who can tell him all this all over again. I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“You sure you didn’t see that other caravan guard?” the caravan member asks. “He went off ahead didn’t he? And we found a vault dweller instead?”

“Apparently,” the woman says. “The other guard probably got lost. I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.”

“How you feeling, Rig?” the caravan member asks. “You look more active now than before. Nocturnal? Is that what the vault experiment was?”

“Experiment?” he asks. He blinks. “I... don’t know?”

“Vault 113, right?” the woman asks. “According to your jumpsuit. How long ago did you end up there? Or were you born there?”

He hesitates. “I don’t know. I don’t remember going there. I woke up in a box inside. I— Fff— Buh— I don’t remember anything that happened there...”

The caravan member frowns. “What do you remember before waking up...? What year was it...?”

He racks his brain. “I was... At home with my roommate... It was 2070-something... Something happened and things got shaky and loud and I was told to leave... Or was that later...? I don’t remember seeing—” He frowns. “I don’t know where my friend went... He wasn’t there when... what happened to happened had happened...”

The woman and the caravan member share a look. They don’t say anything. He doesn’t know what they’re thinking and doesn’t try to guess...

“What was it like in 113?” the woman asks.

“Dark,” he says. “I was dizzy waking up... No idea what I was doing or where I was going or what was there. Just messed around with terminals and stuff until a door opened and I left.”

“That doesn’t sound—” The caravan member shuts up at the woman’s stern look. “Alright,” he says. “You’ll be out of our hair tomorrow, at least.”

“So it’s been over 200 years?” he asks. He rubs his chin and jumps at the scratchy hairs. “I have stubble?”

The woman frowns. “Do you need to shave?”

“It took me _200 years_ to grow _only stubble?!_ ”

“...Is that a no?”

“I can never shave,” he groans. “It won’t ever grow back! 200 years! _Stubble!_ ”

“I don’t think that’s the rea—” The caravan member cuts himself off again. “Well, we can’t all grow hair overnight...?”

The woman sighs. “Just... If you’re not going to eat, go get some sleep, Rig. Promise, we’ll wake you up when it’s time to leave.”

He leans back until he tips onto the ground and lies there, staring up at the star-filled sky. ...At least that’s kind of pretty...

The woman and the caravan member share a look. Neither of them say a word, and they both give “Rig” some space.

...Rig watches the sky the entire night. He watches the stars move across the sky and start to fade, and he thinks the entire night. About his situation. About what may have happened. About what he may be missing. About the actual Rig Miller and what happened... He was supposed to go with him... somewhere... Vault 113, maybe? Is he still there...? Did he leave his friend behind...? Did he make it there...? Did he survive the... what was it...? A _war?_ Wow. An entire war that changed everything and he doesn’t remember it or what happened or anything or whatever happened or anything or—

The sun starts to rise and someone shuffles up to him, and he props himself up on his elbows to look at them. The caravan member startles but then looks like he was expecting this.

“Help us pack up,” he says. “You can at least do that much, right?”

Rig nods and climbs to his feet to do as told.

He can follow instructions.

He’s good at that.

The woman doesn’t talk with him at all the rest of the trip. No one does. He spends the rest of the walk in his own head while occasionally tuning into the conversations the others are having. Something about synths? Something about danger? Something about leaving him as soon as they get to the settlement for the people there to deal with?

Sure. Whatever. He knows _some_ of those words.

Aforementioned settlement approaches on the horizon. The first 24 hours awake will come to a close soon enough, or so he estimates...

The numbers on the weird thing on his wrist still flash 01.01.1970 and 00:00.

...That was supposed to be the date, wasn’t it?

Whoops. Hopefully he didn’t break anything else useful on this thing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I have a (mostly) Fallout blog on tumblr @glitchvault74 where you can find out more about Rig, see a bunch of stories and art I did for some RPs I'm doing with Glow, see occasional Fallout art that I draw, or the more frequent reblogs of Fallout content from other blogs on tumblr. Thank you for reading!


	2. Dr. Ted Said There's Something Wrong with His Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rig meets his one true love: a gross shirt he found in a box

The caravan starts their trading nearly the moment they reach the settlement. Rig watches the others at work, staring and blinking silently until he hears a harsh “ _Rig!_ ” uttered for the third time and finally looks at the woman who had been guiding him the day before. She nods for him to follow her and a second person and he wanders after the two of them. They lead him into a small building to the side, and he’s put into another room to sit and wait while the other two talk. He stares at the wall and zones out.

Meanwhile the caravan guard talks with the doctor about the “patient”, their voices low despite said man’s lack of perception.

“You found a random vault dweller wandering around lost?” the doctor asks to clarify.

“He _might_ be a vault dweller,” she says. “Dressed like one, but whatever happened to him...” She points at her head. “His head’s real scrambled, Doc. Says it was sometime in the 2070s last he remembered before waking up. Not even a specific year. If he’s a synth he’s a pretty terrible synth.” 

“How so?” the doctor asks.

“He’s dumber than a sack of nails,” she says.

“Well, you _did_ say his head is scrambled,” the doctor replies. “I’ll do what I can, but I don’t know if I can waste supplies for some stranger and not be paid for it...”

She sighs. “Fine, I’ll cover it. But only because he’s cute. Not like he’s coming with us anyway.”

“You’re leaving him here?”

“We’re not putting up with some rando fresh out of a vault. After we leave, I don’t care what you do with him. We’re not taking him with us.”

“Fair enough... Tell me what he’s told you so far.”

In the other room, Rig blinks back to attention once the door opens and the other person walks in.

“Rig Miller, was it?” he asks as he walks up. “I’m Dr. Ted. I’ll be checking you over and getting you any help you need, okay?”

“Fffsure,” Rig answers.

“...Wow, off to a great start.” Dr. Ted leans in and checks Rig’s eyes. Rig stares and then darts his eyes away. “No, no, look at me please.” Rig’s eyes jump back to him. “Hmm, alright.” He pulls back. “When was the last time you ate or drank?”

“Not hungry,” he says.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Rig shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Do you know what year it is?”

“2289,” he says.

“Do you know where you were before meeting the caravan?”

“Vault 113.”

“Do you know what you were doing there?”

“No.”

“What do you remember?”

“Woke up there,” he says. “Before that...” He stops a moment. “2070s. Things were happening. Roommate was missing. Got sent somewhere. Ate something bitter. Bli—- Bleh. Bletter.”

“Bitter, hmm?” Dr. Ted taps his chin. “Was it chems?”

“...What are chems?”

“...Alright then.” Dr. Ted clasps his hands together. “Well, Mr. Miller, I think you’re dehydrated. You need some water in you.”

“Not thirsty...”

“My boy, you’re going to drink water whether you like it or not, or else dehydration will be the least of your problems.”

Rig looks at him, disturbed but slowly nodding. Dr. Ted smiles and nods in approval.

“Anyway,” he says. “Most of the clothes I can spare for you are... Not the best. But if you want to change out of that jumpsuit while I get you some water, you’re welcome to look over there...” He motions at the boxes stacked in the corner. “You stay in this room until I come back.”

“Alright...” Rig watches cautiously as Dr. Ted leaves and he then gets up and walks over to the boxes. He nearly drops the top one trying to move it off the stack, but manages to get it to the floor without spilling everything and decides not to try again with the second box. Too heavy. The third box will remain a mystery. He digs through the first box until he finds a pair of patched brown pants in his size. He drapes them over his shoulder and then stands to look in the second box and immediately sees a grease-stained gray shirt that looks like it could have been blue in the past.

He looks at his jumpsuit and tugs at it, trying to figure out how exactly to get it off.

He definitely damages the suit trying to remove it, and in the process knocks over the second box. He stares for a long moment before sighing and finishes undressing and putting on his new clothes... He then crouches down again to check that mysterious third box...

............It’s the most obnoxiously bright and loudly patterned shirts he’s ever seen, most of them stained and missing buttons, but he _has to have one._ He pulls out one from the bottom, dragging out something light green and covered in flamingos and leaves. He stands up, spreading out the shirt to inspect it...

“Oh. You found those terrible things.”

Rig turns around to face Dr. Ted who is pulling a face at the shirt in his hands. Rig stares for a long moment and then pulls the shirt on. No buttons, no problem, it’s just for _fashion_.

Dr. Ted sighs. “As long as you’re taking it off my hands. I swear, I can’t seem to get rid of these...” He hands out water for Rig to take. “Now drink this. Do you mind if I keep your vault suit?”

“Go ahead,” Rig says. He takes the water and sips it and pulls a face. Gross. He drinks more.

Dr. Ted picks up the jumpsuit and frowns. “Did you rip this?”

“...No?”

Dr. Ted sighs again. Annoyed. “ _Fine_ , I suppose it’s fair enough trade that you’re taking one of those ugly shirts off my hands.”

Rig darts his eyes down to his shirt and then back up at Dr. Ted. He finishes his water, hands Dr. Ted the container, and hurries to the door. “Okay, bye—”

“Hold on,” Dr. Ted orders. “You don’t know where you’re going.”

Rig pauses in the door. “Um... Nope.”

“I doubt you have any caps.”

“Caps???”

“And I doubt you have any means to defend yourself.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhh...”

Dr. Ted gives him a handful of caps. “This is what we use for money out here. You can exchange them for goods and services.”

“Ah,” Rig says. “ _Money_. The civility of the moor.”

Dr. Ted stares. “ _What?_ ”

“...Yeah.”

Dr. Ted pinches the bridge of his nose. “I cannot in good conscience let you go around on your own. My god. You’re going to die the moment someone takes their eyes off of you.” He grabs Rig by the arm and pulls him along. “Alright, there’s someone who might be able to handle you. Have you met any ghouls yet?”

“What’s a—?”

“Well, you’re going to meet one now.”

Rig blinks but follows Dr. Ted out to where to where the caravan is still trading with those in the settlement. He blinks when he’s led up to a person in a nice dress but with a patchy, wrinkled face, no nose, and dark, dark eyes. Beautiful in a decaying sort of way...

And totally not anything he was expecting.

“Mr. Miller,” Dr. Ted says. “This is Lady. She’s a ghoul. You might meet more of them now that you’re out of that vault.”

Rig waves. “Hi...?”

Lady frowns. “Hi... Teddy, you’ve got a vault dweller...?”

“The caravan dragged him in,” Dr. Ted says, to which the caravan guard clears her throat and looks away. “Anyway,” he continues. “Lady, I thought you could help Mr. Miller out. He _thinks_ he’s from pre-war like you are, and he’s not experienced enough to be out on his own...”

Lady looks over him. Particularly his flamingo shirt. “Miller...? You got another name, boy...?”

Rig stares for a moment. He jolts. “Oh! Right. It’s Rig. Rig Miller.”

Lady tenses up immediately. Rig blinks and looks to Dr. Ted for help, but Dr. Ted seems confused by the reaction. Lady takes a step forward. “Rig Miller...?” she asks.

“Yes...?” Rig looks around and then back at her. “Y— Yesss...?” he guesses.

“Rig Miller is the bastard that _killed my sister_ before the war.”

Rig’s eyes widen. “What...?”

“And you come here and you...!”

Rig looks away, staring at the ground as he tries to process that entire sentence. “Rig would never...” he mutters.

“What?” Dr. Ted asks.

“I— I mean—” Rig looks up again. “I would _never_ kill someone. I never did! I was framed—”

“Bullshit!” Lady spits at him.

“I’ll prove it!” Rig says. “Some— Somehow! I’ll prove it. Rig Miller is no murderer.”

“Well,” Lady huffs up. “If that’s the case, then you’re on your own, _Miller_.”

Rig winces. He points in a random direction. “I’ll— I’ll just. Go...”

The caravan and the rest of the settlement gives him wide berth as he wanders away with no idea where he’s going or what he’s going to do. Bits and pieces of the things the woman from the caravan told him the day before filter in. Things about the dangers out here that he in no way is prepared for or even knows how to recognize. To say nothing on how he’s going to prove Rig never killed anyone. He’s taking it at face value that it’s 2289, though he can believe it judging by the look of the world around him... Even if the stupid thing on his wrist still insists it’s midnight, January 1st, 1970.

He buries his face in his hands and groans in the back of his throat. What is even going _on?_ None of this has sunk in at all, and it’s just barely making cracks in whatever shell of ignorance is keeping him sane in this entire situation. But his head _hurts_ , he’s _dizzy_ , he has no idea what’s—

“Wow, you are _way_ too easy to sneak up on.”

Rig jumps and nearly stumbles, but something grabs him by his shirt collar and keeps him upright. He turns around and faces whoever is there. Some bald man in sunglasses and a plaid shirt looking a little amused about things. Rig stammers a bit and then gets out an “I pride myself for many things, but not that in particular,” he says, without thinking, as he seems to do.

The man lifts a brow. “You know, I heard them say your head’s a bit scrambled, and I’m not exactly hearing anything to disprove that.”

Rig swallows. “Uh. Hi, nice to meet you, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m just your usual ol’ mysterious stranger,” the man says. “But there are those who call me......... Tim.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “What should I call you, then?”

“...Tim.”

“A bold choice,” Rig says. “I like it.”

“So,” Tim cuts in. “Are you really _the_ Rig Miller? The infamous Rig the Ripper?”

“What?” Rig blinks. “...What?”

“Lady’s got it out for you,” Tim says, pointing back towards the settlement. “Thinks you killed her sister...? Maybe others?”

“Ohhhh,” Rig says. “No, I never killed anyone. I can’t even lift a box.”

“Don’t have to be strong to commit a homicide,” Tim notes. “Could be the perfect cover story...”

“I never killed anyone,” he says again. “I’m going to prove it. ...Somehow. Haven’t figured out the logistics of that yet.” He reaches to rub the back of his neck but hits his head with the large, bulky metal thing on his left wrist that he _forgot about_ **_again_**. ...Wait. He stares at it, pausing a moment to think how he got the clothes on while wearing this thing. Did he take it off at some point? _And put it back on?_ He’s an idiot.

“You came from a vault, didn’t you?” Tim asks, snapping him from his thoughts. “You act like you don’t know what a Pip-Boy is.”

“I don’t,” Rig answers. “I woke up with this on my arm, and I already broke it.”

“What? No way, let me see.” Tim looks over the Pip-Boy when Rig lifts his arm. He fiddles with the settings and then covers his mouth, possibly shocked at the damage, possibly— Okay the squeak in his voice shows he’s trying not to laugh. “How do you mess up the _date_ and the _radio_ like that? I hope the Geiger counter is still working but I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t.”

“This thing has a radio?” Rig looks closer at the Pip-Boy. “Oh, when did that label that says ‘radio’ in clear letters get there?”

“I mean, not like you’re going to get any use out of that with it busted,” Tim continues to try not to laugh. He clears his throat. “Anyway,” he says, serious again. “If you’re trying to solve a mystery and prove your innocence, then I’d head to Diamond City. There’s a detective there who could help you with this case.”

Rig blinks. “I don’t know where that is. And I’m probably going to die on the way there. Something about it being dangerous and the doctor saying I’ll be killed the moment someone takes their eyes off me?”

“Aw, what does Ted know?” Tim asks. “I bet he said your shirt was ugly too. You really think you won’t survive out here?”

He shrugs. “It’s been a weird... two? Two days? I figured if I die, I’ll wake up and this will have been a dream, or I’ll die. Win-tie, right?”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be that helpless,” Tim says, an encouraging tone in his voice. “If you can fire a gun you can defend yourself.”

“I’ve never seen a gun before in my life.”

“...How are you with swords?”

“S’wards,” Rig says. “Are they real? The jury is out.”

“Hoo boy,” Tim mumbles. “I’m starting to see how people think of me.” He clears his throat. “And I suppose you’re bad at the whole science thing if you somehow broke your own Pip-Boy. And you didn’t even notice me sneaking up on you.” He shrugs. “Well, I guess you’re dead meat, Miller. Nice knowing you.”

“Yep,” Rig agrees. “It’s been a good...” He checks his Pip-Boy. “Zero minutes knowing you. Happy New Year’s. 1970. The peak of progress. The— The pike of— Of smubl. Blugh, I. Words. Blugh.”

“Ah, you, too, speak murble,” Tim nods. “Good to blorgt.”

“...” Rig looks up at Tim, blinking. “Yeah...?” he prompts.

“Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day,” Tim says. “Happy New Year’s. My resolution is to help those lost and confused more often and you seem at _least_ ten lost and fourteen confused. I’ve got some business in Diamond City, so you can tag along with me. I’ll get you inside the gate, but after that, you’re on your own finding that detective.”

He stares a moment, trying to find any sort of words to say that aren’t utter garbage. “Yeah... Okay, thank you...”

“And if someone asks who that handsome devil was who helped you arrive in Diamond City alive and only slightly injured, you tell them it was your good friend Tom.”

“Okay, Tim, I will.”

“Hell yeah.” He pats Rig’s shoulder and starts off. “Let’s get moving. Before a Deathclaw with morning breath finds us.”

“...Before a _what?_ ”

Tim stops and looks back at him. “Rigsby, you’ve got a _lot_ to learn. Let’s go. Follow me.”

Rig winces and follows after. Deathclaws, huh...? With a name like that, he hopes they’re friendly...


	3. Take Me down to Diamond City Where the Walls are Green and the Girls are Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim walks out of Rig's life... but three new people (and their dog) walk in.

The wake-up call from the vault may have been Prince Charming’s kiss after a long two hundred years asleep... But the trip to Diamond City is where everything about this situation becomes _real_. At first, it was like the trip to the settlement that Rig never caught the name of and won’t know how to find later to prove his innocence to Lady. It was a daze-filled dreamworld of a broken countryside. It was something Rig couldn’t comprehend and didn’t bother to try.

But then Tim has Rig stop by a rusted car, half buried in the ground and with all the windows shattered. Tim has him wait and then wanders off to do something, and Rig stares at the car. He wanders around it, getting the details of it. The paint is long gone and pieces of the car are torn off for who knows what reason. There’s something in the backseat— a... skeleton in the backseat. One that looks much too real to be anything besides human remains. Just something sitting so casually out in the open...

Except it’s not “the open”, so to speak. Rig looks around, noticing more things. Perhaps not finer details, but at the least he can now notice _anything_ about the world around him. Actually perceive it and understand what he’s looking at. Rusted cars everywhere, a freeway collapsed with parts of it hanging precariously, structures that look practically melted with how they’re falling apart. Desolate, decaying, decimated... There’s trash everywhere. There’s a few more bodies.

He covers his mouth and holds his stomach as he crouches. This is real. This is _real_. Everything’s in a sharp clarity now, that’s buzzing in his ears— Or is that buzzing external...?

Rig looks up and scrambles back at the sight of something _giant_ and _flying_ and _scary_. Like some sort of hell insect. And coming right at him. He jumps to his feet like an awkward, newborn foal, with all the grace of someone who suddenly forgot how to walk, and he’s about to run when—

_BANG!_

He runs anyway, at the least to behind the safety of another car, and he peeks over it when the sounds have stopped. Tim approaches the remains of the hellsect, now holding a gun of some sort and carrying a pack holding who knows what.

“Olly olly oxen free!” he calls, waving over at him. “You can come out now! The big scary bloodbug is dead!”

Rig hesitates, but he shuffles out from behind the car and back over to Tim. He wrinkles his nose as Tim pulls out a knife from his pack and cuts off chunks of the “bloodbug”.

“Your first time seeing one of these, yeah?” Tim asks. “Trust me, no one likes these things.”

“Why’s it called a bloodbug?” Rig asks.

“Uh, maybe because they eat blood?”

“Oh, like a mosquito...”

“Spit it back at you too.”

“Oh, like a mutant mosquito.”

“Got it in two, Rigsby,” Tim grins. “That’s exactly what these are.” He wraps up chunks of the bloodbug and shoves it into his pack. “We’re eating like kings tonight. Kings who eat gross bugs.”

Rig pulls a face. Something caught between disbelief and utter disgust. Tim cleans up his knife and puts it away and then stands up, picking his gun up with him.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll cook it first. Less chance of disease that way.”

Rig closes his mouth. He didn’t even realize it was open. He stares at the mess of the bloodbug remains and then back up at Tim. “I’ll be right back,” he says and he wanders off to behind the closest car.

“What?” Tim calls over. “Something wro—?” He cringes at the familiar sound of someone trying to vomit on an empty stomach. “Well. Thanks for not doing that on me!” 

By the time Rig stumbles back over, he’s dizzy and light-headed all over again. The world is back to being spinny— was it spinny before?

“Rig? Rigsby? Hey—”

“Huh?” Rig asks. He flinches when something splashes in his face. “Huh???”

“Here.” Tim shoves something into Rig’s hands. Water. “Drink this.”

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off. His throat is burning. He drinks, not pausing at the taste this time. The vertigo and nausea passes and he hands the container back.

“Feeling better?” Tim asks.

“Less dead,” Rig says, flashing an OK.

“Good enough.” Tim motions for him to follow again. “Man, Doc Teddy Bear was right after all. You would not survive out here on your own. With how fast _you’re_ moving, it’ll be another day before we get to Diamond City. We should find some shelter before night hits.”

“Hmm,” Rig says, glancing back to the car he saw the skeleton in as he follows Tim.

“You taking notes?” Tim asks. “This is your Wasteland Survival Guide. Good ol’ Jim won’t be around to help you forever, you know.”

“On purpose?” Rig asks, distracted.

Tim looks back at him. “I mean, _hopefully_ , yeah—”

“The name thing,” Rig clarifies. “You told me to call you Tim, but you called yourself different things since then...?”

Tim grins. “That’s a test to see if you’re paying attention. Good job. I’ll let you have the nicer bloodbug steak tonight as a treat.”

Rig covers his mouth again.

“Orrrr not! That’s fine too!”

The rest of the day goes much smoother. Rig picks up his pace the moment he feels less sick, follows along just behind Tim who keeps him in his peripheral. They stop a few times to avoid dangers, Tim redirects them a few other times. It’s a long, winding path they’re taking, and not useful for Rig to figure out where he is at all, even with the map Tim says is on his Pip-Boy. It means nothing to him if he doesn’t know any of the landmarks they’re passing.

Tim will not shut up either. But unlike the woman from the caravan, Rig listens more to the things Tim says. After all, while some of the things he says sound like lessons on how to survive... most of it is random comments or references to things or otherwise just interesting wordplay.

Rig smiles to himself as he thinks it over. Too bad he doesn’t have a way to record any of that. Tim says some fun things that Rig wants to relisten to sometime...

The sun sets, and they’re “still a half a day away” from Diamond City, according to Tim. Rig’s not certain how true that is, but with how they travelled today, he’ll accept it. He waits outside on the street in a long abandoned neighborhood as Tim checks to make sure it’s suitable for the night.

“Alright,” Tim calls from the doorway of a half-collapsed house at the edge of the neighborhood. “We should be safe in here. No raiders or anything.”

Rig walks in after Tim. What’s left of the house is gray and dusty. Part of the roof and the far wall is gone. There’s an old stove in the corner that Tim seems to have lit to cook something in. An old mattress on the floor that someone must have used before only to abandon it in the end... Everything smells of mildew and bad decisions. There’s a couple sturdy crates and Tim sits on one and motions for Rig to take the other.

“Home sweet dilapidated home,” Tim chuckles. “Dinner will be ready soon. Did you have a nice day at work?”

Rig sits down, sending Tim another confused look. Just one of many that’s been shared all day.

“That’s what it’d used to be like, right?” Tim asks. “Couples being all cute, one half working all day while the other stays home to cook and clean... I mean, assuming they didn’t have help...”

“Mister Handys?” Rig asks, pulling a face. “They made me nervous, so we never had one.”

“Oh?” Tim asks. “So who did the cooking and cleaning?”

“I did.” He leans forward on his knees and looks at the dirt on the ground. He could draw something in this. “R—” He stops for a moment. New word. Different word. “Roommate worked, I stayed home. I did the chores, he paid for things. He’d make sure I had a social life. Most of my friends were his friends.” He reaches down and starts to draw something. Tries to at least. Stupid Pip-Boy, making it difficult to see his work.

“Huh.” Tim smirks. “So, I should be getting you to cook for us, shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know how to cook bloodbug.”

“Heh, yeah. I’d imagine pre-war cooking is a bit different from how things are now.” Tim gets up and stretches. “Speaking of. You feeling better about eating that now or...?”

“Not hungry,” he says.

Tim tilts his head and watches Rig draw in the dirt. “Have you eaten at all since leaving that vault?”

Rig doesn’t answer for a moment. He pauses from drawing but doesn’t look up at Tim. “Nnyes?”

“You haven’t,” Tim says. He hums. “But you really don’t feel like eating...? You’re going to starve to death, Rigsby.”

“I died in 1948,” he grumbles.

Tim laughs. “Yeah? And when were you born?”

“I was never born.”

“ _Ooh_ , a _ghost_. That’s so _spooky_.”

“I could kill Macbeth.”

Tim grins. “I thought you said you weren’t a murderer.”

Rig looks up at him. “I thought you said I didn’t need to be strong to commit a homicide. Macbeth isn’t real anyway. Like... Like... John Hancock.” He immediately sighs and drops his face into his hand. “Stupid...” he mutters.

“Nope, you’re right,” Tim laughs. “John Hancock. Totally fictional.” He goes to check the steaks. “And I know who Macbeth is,” he says. “You’ll get ‘em next time, Macduff.”

“Hmm.” Rig glances at him and then down at his drawing of a skull. He frowns and swipes it away with his foot.

“But no, seriously.” Tim carries the cooked steaks over. “You want one of these or not? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Lost it in the jungle in 1805.” Rig stares at the steaks and grimaces. “It’s... safe to eat?”

“Ouch, what an insult.” Tim sits back down. “If you’re going to keep insulting my cooking, I’m going to file for divorce, honeypie.”

Rig blinks. His confused look returns, this time complete with his eyes darting back and forth as he tries to puzzle out an answer to a question his mind hasn’t thought to ask.

“It’s safe,” Tim says, holding one of the steaks out. “Promise. You have, what, fifteen caps on you? That’s not worth murdering someone over. That _shirt_ on the other hand...”

“.........If I die,” Rig says, a bit slower than before as he actually thinks over his words. He takes the steak. “Then as long as you didn’t divorce me... you’re entitled to my things.”

Tim laughs. “And they say romance is dead!”

Rig smiles a little and then takes a bite of the steak without looking at it. He pulls a face as he chews it. Chews a bit more. Lifts his brow and nods in approval and eats more.

“Really?” Tim asks between mouthfuls of his own steak. “You turned around on your opinion that fast?”

“I’ve had worse,” Rig answers. “Roommate cooked once. Was gross and gave me food poisoning.”

“That’s going to happen at some point. Wasteland Survival lesson whatever number we’re on. You’re going to eat some bad food at some point and get food poisoning.”

“...Gross.”

“Mm-hmm. One of the glamorous things about life.”

The two lapse into silence as they eat their meals. The moon shines overhead. Tim still wears those sunglasses. He finishes eating first.

“I’ll take first watch,” he says. He hums and wiggles his hand as he thinks. “I’ll take watch,” he corrects. “I’m a light sleeper, but I don’t trust you to know what to look for to wake me up in time should something show up.”

“Yeah,” Rig says. “You’re not going to sleep, though?”

“Eh, I’ll catch some Z’s. When you least expect it. You won’t even notice.” He moves his crate over to where his things are resting against the wall, giving him full view over everything else. “But I promised to get you to Diamond City in one piece, didn’t I?”

Rig turns around on his crate to face Tim. “...What’s your story?” he asks.

“My story?” He smiles. “Nothing special. Parents were farmers, so I grew up learning good, working values. Then the farm got overrun by ferals and we were forced to leave. Spent my young adult years going around to different places, doing different jobs, learning new skills. Took up hunting for food at some point. You saw how good my aim was with that bloodbug, right?”

“No, I was hiding,” Rig says.

“You’re honest,” Tim chuckles. “I like that about you, Rig. You seem like you couldn’t tell a single lie.”

Rig’s lips thin. He chews his last bite of bloodbug slowly and swallows it. “Yeah...”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Tim continues. “Ended up settling in Buttonwood—that’s where Doc Tedds was treating you—while my parents found their way to Diamond City. They’re elderly now, so I make sure to visit them frequently before they shuffle off this mortal coil.”

Rig squints. “Hmm.”

“What?” Tim asks. “Don’t believe me...?”

“...The settlement is called Buttonwood?”

“...Heh.” Tim leans back against the wall. “Yeah. It actually is. Well, get some sleep, Rigsby. We’ve got another long walk ahead of us.”

Rig shrugs and gets up. Weird. He feels a bit better than he did before sitting down... He lies down on the mattress, on his side facing the wall and closes his eyes...

Ends up opening them some twenty minutes later, he estimates, unable to sleep. Maybe he can trick himself to sleep if he doesn’t move from this spot and just... thinks or something...

But everything that happened that day bounces around in his mind. The bloodbug, the skeleton, Lady, the accusation that Rig killed someone... Tim. Whatever was up with Tom. His ol’ pal Jim.

Morning comes with the sound of Tim moving around, just like he did throughout the night, but this time, Rig flips over to face him.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Tim grins. “Want some breakfast?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Not even if I were to offer you... _Fancy Lads?_ ”

Rig looks up. “You have Fancy Lads?”

Tim pulls out a package. “And they have _your_ name on them!” He tosses it to Rig who catches it.

Rig looks at the package and sees the “RIG” written on the outside. “...You have a pen?”

“What? Nooo. I found them like that.”

Rig furrows his brow. That... sounds like a lie... “...Alright,” he says, choosing to accept it even if he knows better than to believe that. He’ll find his own pen. Some day... In the meantime: it’s Fancy Lads Snack Cakes for breakfast. Amazing that these things never expire and therefore _have_ to still be edible, because that’s how expiry dates work, right? He gets a mouthful of cake and talks around it as he chews. “These things are as disgusting as I remember them being.”

Tim looks up from his own breakfast. Some kind of fruit maybe? “You don’t like them?”

“I love them,” Rig says. “Doesn’t make them any less disgusting. Hadn’t had them since I was a kid.”

“...Why are you eating them if you think they’re disgusting?”

“You fed me bloodbug last night and now nothing is sacred.”

“Fair enough.”

Breakfast ends with little fanfare. Tim packs up. They head out. Simple as that. It’s back to the same as the day before. Navigating around like in the most zigzag way they can. Avoiding dangers. Probably taking twice as long to get anywhere, perhaps longer. But if they’re having to stop to hide from something that Rig doesn’t have the chance to see but Tim insists is there, Rig rather err on the side of “okay but that bloodbug continues to be terrifying I rather trust Tim that there’s something dangerous we have to hide from than risk dying.”

Even so, Tim’s back to saying things. Rig’s back to listening. It’s a shame they’ll part ways once they get to Diamond City. Rig may not know this man, but likes his company.

The buildings get bigger—the ones still standing that is, as abandoned as they are. There’s more concrete, cracked several times over and broken into chunks. There’s more people, but they don’t stay and chat too long. Tim does his best to avoid anyone seeing them for some reason.

Things start looking a bit more familiar... Like a place Rig’s been to before, only utterly wrecked from time and a war he doesn’t remember. The eerie, empty giants are shells of the past that Rig doesn’t recognize, if he ever could.

Tim leads him along to a... huge-big, green, walled structure. Rig stares at it as they get closer. That’s odd... He feels like he should know this one at least... He’s been _here_ at least, right...? At least in passing...?

They’re nearly right in front of the statue of a baseball player before Rig actually sees it. His eyes widen and he gasps. “Oh! I get it now!”

“Yeah?” Tim grins.

“This is Diamond City?” he asks. “On a baseball diamond? What was the name of this.... Sports... field...? St— Stereo— Uh.” Rig looks down in thought. He snaps his fingers. “Stadium! What was the name of the stadium?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be pre-war?” Tim grins. “You don’t remember the name?”

“I’m not from Massachusetts,” he says. “I was living here only.... Maybe 5 years? Before whatever happened? Maybe more? I don’t know. I’m terrible with time.”

“Ha!” Tim claps a hand onto Rig’s shoulder. “That’s great that you broke your clock and calendar, then.”

Rig frowns. “Yeah...”

“Well, buck up,” Tim says. “As soon as we get through those gates, this part of the journey will be over! You just have to find that detective and convince him to take on your case with those fifteen caps in your pocket.”

“...That’s not worth much is it?”

“Nope! But you could always offer that shirt.”

Rig twists his body away, holding onto his flamingo shirt by the shoulders, utter offense coating his face. The audacity. The nerve.

“Yep,” Tim laughs. “You know how valuable that is. Let’s go, Rigsby. Just a little farther.”

“...How do I find that detective...?”

“Just look for his sign. His is the only detective agency in town.”

Rig looks away as he thinks it over, merely following Tim inside without paying attention to how they got in or where they’re going. “What happens if I—?”

He looks around. He’s in the city, by himself, Tim nowhere to be seen.

...Time to wander aimlessly in hopes of finding where he needs to go. 

* * *

It’s a quiet evening in the Valentine Detective Agency. The sun is setting outside the walls of the office, and there likely won’t be anyone showing up on their doorstep with a case to solve... But that’s just jinxing it. In the meantime, Detective Nick Valentine reads through the paper, reading up on local news for the day. He sent Ellie home early when the day seemed to be bringing no trouble with it, leaving Nick in the office with his trusty partner, Miss Echo Gray, and Echo’s trusty partner, a German Shepherd being spoiled with belly rubs.

“Who’s a good boy?” Echo kneels on the floor as she showers Dogmeat with affection. Dogmeat’s tail thumps on the floor as he gives happy little boofs. “ _Who’s a good boy?_ ”

“Boof!”

“That’s right! _You’re_ a good boy!” 

“You’re a good man, Dogmeat,” Nick adds, a casual, amused smile on his lips as he turns the page of his paper.

Dogmeet boofs again and then climbs to his feet to run in circles around Echo. Dogmeat then rushes to the door, barking excitedly at it.

“Expecting someone, Nick?” Echo asks, quickly pulling out a pair of sunglasses to cover her silver eyes and obscure the scar running down the right side of her face. She stands up, waiting to hear a knock.

“Not this late, no,” Nick answers. He sets down the paper and heads for the door. “Echo, could you...?”

“Dogmeat!” Echo clicks her tongue. “Here, boy.”

Dogmeat rushes up to her and sits at her side. There’s a knock just before Nick opens the door.

“Oh, Detective Valentine,” a man says, dressed in a coat, a hat, and sunglasses. He dabs a dirty handkerchief to his face to wipe up imaginary tears. “It’s simply awful. I need to hire your services to find my missing insert relation to me here.”

“Deacon,” Nick deadpans. “What are you doing here?”

Deacon grins. “Practicing my acting skills. I think I’m ready to start a theatre troupe. Gotta keep busy somehow, right? What do you think?”

“You know, for someone who lies every other sentence, you’d think your drama skills would be better.”

Deacon clutches his chest. “You wound me!”

Nick rolls his optics. “What are you _actually_ doing here?”

“Can’t a man say hi to his sister once in a while?”

“You have a sister?” Echo deadpans, moving to stand beside Nick. “And before you make the—”

“Of course I do, sis!” Deacon grins and leans in with a motion to his sunglasses. “We have the same eyes!”

“Get new jokes,” Echo sighs. “Maybe then you could do stand-up instead of theatre.”

Deacon grins. “Right back at ya, Bullseye. Say, any new cases pop up in the last... Oh, let’s say three hours?”

“Nope,” Nick says. He finally moves out of the doorway, a silent invitation for Deacon to come in. “It’s been a quiet day. Even sent Ellie home early.”

“Really?” Deacon asks, wandering into the office. “You didn’t see or hear anything from a guy in a stupid shirt with pink birds on it, did you?”

“Flamingos?” Echo asks.

“You’ve seen him!”

“Nope,” she says. “Why, should we have...?”

Deacon goes oddly quiet. “...So,” he says at last. “I guess it’s true what they say. You can lead a vaultie to Diamond City but you can’t make him be able to find the only detective agency in town on his own.”

Nick and Echo both look at him in alarm.

“Deacon,” Nick says. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Deacon says. “Now, if you were to ask _him_ , he might tell you about a Tim or maybe a Tom who helped him get here, _but_...”

Echo covers her face. “Deacoooon,” she groans.

“Well, hey!” Deacon grins. “Bright side is, that guy is totally harmless! He’s more likely to get killed than hurt anyone.” He winces. “Maybe we ought to find him.”

“I’ll stay here,” Nick says. “In case he finds his way here after all. Echo, you go with Deacon. Take Dogmeat. _Hopefully_ , this man’s got enough sense to at least say within the city walls.”

* * *

Rig has absolutely no idea how long it’s been since he got to Diamond City, but he’s no closer to finding where he needs to go than he was the first dozen times he passed by this building despite the fact he _knows_ he’s been trying different paths looking for that sign Tim told him to look for. Detective Agency. _Detective Agency_. How hard could it be to find a sign that says _Detective Agency?_ He can _read_. Why is finding it the hard part?

Worse yet, the sun has set. He’s lost, confused, and has no idea where to go. He groans and keeps walking, hoping to spy something different besides the darkness making everything harder to see. Except for whatever that weird red-pink glow is but—

He backtracks and squints at the sign.

Valentine Detective Agency.

_Oh_.

...The heart and arrow’s a nice touch.

Rig hesitates, looking up and down the street. Would it still be open at this hour...? Well, he doesn’t have much else to do... He follows the sign to a door, and he knocks.

“ _Dammit_ ,” someone curses from inside. “Just a moment!”

Rig waits patiently. He glances around as he waits, looking at. Just about anything, really. That’s an interesting color of brick. Is that graffiti or glue from an old poster? Is that—?

The door opens and Rig looks at the person on the other side. He blinks, pulling back as he takes in the person’s face. Graying, cracking skin that’s missing chunks. Mechanical parts underneath. Glowing yellow eyes. Dressed like a detective at least. That’s a good sign. The eyes dart down to his shirt. Rig waves, unsure what else to do. “Is this the detective agency...?”

“Yep,” the person says. Because this is clearly a person even if... He motions in with a skeletal, metal hand. “You must be that vault dweller Deacon dragged in.”

“Who?” he asks, following inside.

“Oh, uh... _Tim_.”

“...His name is Tim Deacon?”

“Well. No.” The person leans against a desk and crosses their arms. “Deacon was lying to ya, kid. Whatever he told you taking you here, most of it was probably lies.”

Rig slumps his shoulders. “Oh... Does that mean you can’t help me with the thing I need help with?”

The person smiles. “Now, that one is less likely a lie. Detective Nick Valentine. My partner, Echo, is out with Deacon looking for you, but they’re bound to give up and come back soon. Why don’t you tell me your situation in the meantime...? What’s your name, kid?”

“...Uh, well.” He winces. “Um... I’m Rig Miller.”

Nick lowers his arm and stands up straighter but doesn’t say anything for a moment. He eyes Rig, almost suspiciously. “Oh...?”

“And I woke up in some vault. 113, I think? And I... went to some settlement where some... I think she was called a ghoul? Named Lady? Said I killed her sister before the war. And I... want to prove I didn’t... But don’t know where to start...?”

“...How did you get in that vault?”

Rig shrugs. “People keep asking me that, but I have no idea. I just woke up there. I don’t remember how I got there...”

“Well, how did you get _out?_ ”

“I... don’t know.” Rig shrugs. “I was really dizzy. The door opened and I walked out.”

“That...” Nick trails off and then changes tracks. “Do you remember where it is? Is it on your Pip-Boy?”

Rig looks at his Pip-Boy. “I don’t know how to use this.”

Nick points at the dial. “Go to the maps. See what locations are marked. Hopefully, even if you haven’t been adding locations, it’ll have the location of the vault that this came from on it.”

Rig switches to the maps setting. He winces as the screen fills with bright green. “...I may have broken the map too.”

Nick looks down at the screen. “...How the hell do you break a Pip-Boy like that?”

Rig switches back to the setting it was on before. “One of life’s greatest mysteries... On par with ‘where does sand come from?’”

“Erosion,” Nick says. “We know where sand comes from.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rig looks back to the door and stiffly points at it. “I’ll just go—”

“No, no,” Nick sighs. “Look. I understand how all this must feel. Waking up somewhere unfamiliar, no knowledge how you got there, with only memories of a pre-war life to help you...”

Rig frowns. “Is it rude to ask what you are...?”

Nick smiles. “There’s a lot more ruder ways to ask. I’m a synth. Do you know what synths are?”

Rig shakes his head. “I heard the word mentioned...”

“An artificially made person,” he says. “I’m an old prototype, before the Institute started making them organic. But we’ve since taken them down. Well, Echo did most of the work. But we don’t need to talk about that. What I’m saying is, I was given the memories of an old pre-war cop. So, whatever your situation is, having a life you remember living pre-war... I can relate.”

“So there was a...” Rig squints. “A Nick Valentine in my time too?”

“Yep,” Nick nods. “You remember hearing anything about the Eddie Winter case?”

“...What is that, some kind of sports team mascot?”

Nick grins and laughs a little, but tries to keep it down. “Not quite. Don’t worry about it.”

“Was it, uh... _big?_ ” Rig frowns. “A big case? I didn’t follow the news much.”

“No, it’s fine. We don’t need to go into it.” Nick hums. “Now, Rig Miller... I remember hearing your name around before. That was another case another precinct was following, about a man who supposedly was committing several different crimes. I suppose the murder part of that happened after the original Nick got that brain scan, else I’d know about it now. So you want to prove you never did any of those crimes?”

Rig nods. “That’d be nice.”

“Will be a tough case,” Nick comments. “It’s been over 210 years since the bombs fell. No idea what we’ll find, especially with how the wastelands are if it’s something you’re not used to...”

“...Do you... need to be paid...?” Rig checks his pockets and counts the contents. “I have.... Fourteen caps. That’s money here, right?”

“No, it’s fine.” Nick smirks at the doorway. “I’ll just make Deacon pay for it.”

“Awww, what?”

Rig looks to the door and sees two people wearing sunglasses, and a big ol’ dog standing there. The man looks familiar, but dressed in a coat and a hat. The woman, he doesn’t recognize, dressed in layers and with brown hair pulled into a ponytail. The dog looks like a regular German Shepherd instead of a scary, mutated dog he might have been expecting. Said dog runs in, barking excitedly and jumping at Rig. Rig holds his arms out in surprise and takes a step back.

“Dogmeat!” the woman says, hurrying over to pull Dogmeat away. “Sorry about him. He has the zoomies.”

“Oh, hey!” the man says, waving. “You must be that guy my twin, Tim, told me about!”

“Deacon,” Nick scolds. “I already told him you were lying.”

Deacon grins. “Oh, yeah? Well then. Wasteland Survival lesson number whatever, Rigsby. People lie. All the time.”

Rig furrows his brow. “You kept your promise about getting me here...”

“Well, that’s just because I’m a good and wonderful person,” Deacon chuckles. “You already tell Valentine about that case you need help with?”

“We were just discussing it,” Nick says. “Echo, you need an update?”

“No I’m good,” the woman says. Echo looks up. “Rig, right?” she asks. She stands up once Dogmeat calms down, and she smiles at Rig. “Deacon told me your situation while we were looking for you.” She sends Deacon as pointed a look as she can with her eyes behind sunglasses. “Assuming you were telling the truth about _that_ at least?”

Deacon holds his hands up in surrender. “Yeah. Promise. Rig Miller’s here to prove he’s not a pre-war killer.”

“Rig Miller, not a killer,” Rig mumbles. “Something something... Thriller? Hmm.”

Nick shakes his head. “Alright. It’s late. I don’t need to sleep, but the rest of you ought to. We’ll talk about this case in the morning.”

“Do you need a place to stay for the night?” Echo asks Rig.

Rig blinks. “...Uh...?”

“Yes,” Deacon interjects.

“Yes,” Rig parrots.

“Then let’s get to my place before it gets any later,” Echo says.

“It’s after office hours anyway,” Nick adds, ushering Rig out the door with the others following behind them. He locks the door and then holds out his arm for Echo. She hooks her arm around his.

“Come on, boys,” she says. “Deacon, make sure Rig doesn’t get lost.”

“You heard the compass, Rigsby,” Deacon says. “Keep up.”

Rig glances around at everyone, and remembers to follow a second after. Alright. Everything’s going okay so far... And they seem to trust him not to be a murderer... To want to help him prove he— that Rig isn’t... That he pretending to be Rig isn’t a murderer...

That’s good, right...?


	4. You May Think the Author Made Typos, but if it's in Rig's Dialogue, Then No, He Just Talks Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a sleepover at Echo's place! Rig's identity turns out to be an interesting topic. The trip to Buttonwood goes without any setbacks (that's a lie).

It’s late into the evening when they make it to Echo’s place. Rig follows along, growing less aware of his surroundings as they go. Hmm. Weird. There’s that dizzy feeling again. Perhaps not dizzy... Something more like...

“Getting sleepy, Rigsby?” Deacon asks from where he’s lounging on a couch.

...when did a couch get there?

Rig looks around. Actually, when did they get inside a building? He blinks and rubs his eyes. Ugh... What is this...?

“Rig?”

He looks up again. What was the robot person’s name...? “Nick,” he says.

Nick half-smiles, amused but unsure about it. “You can take the bed in that room over there.” He points. “You look like you’re about to collapse. Do you need to eat first?”

“Not hungry.” Rig wanders off to the room and lies down on the bed. He flips onto his back and stares at the ceiling and then closes his eyes... When was the last time he slept? Was it really when he was in that vault...? Was it really for over two hundred years...? What _happened?_ That doesn’t make sense. No one can live that long, right? Well. Ghouls can, apparently? But— 

Something jumps onto the bed next to him, and his eyes flutter open and he looks to see the cute German Shepherd lying there. He smiles and flips onto his side to pet the dog. Dogmeat or something... Weird name, but whatever. Not like “Rig” isn’t any weirder.

...No offense to the original Rig...

Dogmeat nestles in beside him and he closes his eyes again, arm ending up draping across Dogmeat’s back...

Glowing yellow eyes peek into the dark of the room, and a hand slowly closes the door... Nick wanders back over to where Echo prepares a late dinner and Deacon has moved to sit at the counter.

“So,” Nick says. “That is _not_ Rig Miller.”

Deacon gasps in such a way that could be described as “sarcastic”. “You mean he’s been _lying_ to me this whole time?”

Echo lifts her brow. “If you already knew, why have you been going along with it?”

“Oh you know.” Deacon shrugs. “With the Institute taken down, there’s been less to do with the Railroad. Saw this guy causing a ruckus claiming to be Rig Miller out in Buttonwood and then saying he’s going to prove ‘he’ was framed for a pre-war murder Rig commited. Figured I’d keep an eye on him, see how long it takes for him to admit the truth.”

Nick frowns. “If he’s anything like you, you’ll be waiting forever.”

“Well, sure,” Deacon chuckles. “It’s like a magnet, right? Liars attract each other.”

“Magnets attract _opposite_ poles.”

“You know what I mean!”

Echo hums a little as she dropped sliced carrots and tatos into a pot of water. “I figured he wasn’t. He doesn’t respond to the name right away.” She gives the pot a gentle stir and taps her wooden spoon against the side. “So, Nick, you mentioned a pre-war case involving our ‘named’ guest?”

Nick takes a seat in order to lean back in his chair dramatically. “Well, he wasn’t any Eddie Winter, but Rig Miller was the name attached to several different crimes committed in the areas surrounding Boston. The weird thing about the case is, aside from the name, no one could find any evidence connecting the only ‘Rig Miller’ in the area with those crimes. I don’t know what this _murder_ was about—must have happened after the brain scan—but having _met_ the original Rig, I wouldn’t doubt if he _was_ being framed by someone else.”

“Yeah?” Deacon hums. “So what was the original Rig like, and who’s this guy pretending to be him?”

“For one thing,” Nick says, leaning forward almost conspiratorially. “ _Blond_.” He taps his fingers on the counter. “Had a job working with computer repair. He was a fairly popular man, had a lot of people supporting him and vouching for his innocence even when the rumors spread about him being involved with crimes.”

“So the complete opposite of a dark-haired, sweaty man who broke his Pip-Boy by _accident_.”

“Exactly,” Nick nods. “Whoever this is, it’s not Rig Miller. Don’t know how he got the name... He said he...” He clears his throat and looks at Echo. “Came from a vault...”

Echo pulls a face and groans. “At least he’s not wearing his vault suit still... What vault...?”

“113,” Nick says. “And he says he’s from pre-war but doesn’t remember how he got to 113 or how he got out... For all we know, he got high on chems, stole a vault suit and a broken Pip-Boy, and picked a name that coincidentally someone recognized and is too embarrassed to admit the truth.”

Deacon claps his hands together. “Mystery solved! How much do I owe you?”

“Deacon,” Echo scolds. “Keep that up and I’ll give you a bowl of stew with no vegetables in it.” She looks up from her cooking and glances at the next room where Rig’s fast asleep under Dogmeat’s watch. “I could always find out for myself what his history is...”

“Only if you feel you need to,” Nick assures. He looks at Deacon. “In the meantime, can I trust you not to lie about what you know about him?”

Deacon holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, so considering he acts and how much he _doesn’t_ know about the modern age of man,” he nods at Echo, “and woman, I don’t think he’s lying about being from a vault. It’s weird he doesn’t know anything about 113 or how he escaped, but apparently he was _really_ out of it when a caravan found him and brought him to Buttonwood, so who knows.”

“Why’d he pick Rig Miller specifically?” Echo points her spoon at Nick. “You think he was close with the guy?”

“Maybe...” Nick hums. “But _how?_ If he actually is pre-war, then how did he survive so long? Unless he’s a synth...”

Deacon hums and taps his chin. “He has a weird relationship with Fancy Lads, I’ll say that much... Gave him some for breakfast today and he said they were disgusting but that he loves them.”

Echo wrinkles her nose. “Did you... Offer him any food after that...?”

“He keeps saying ‘I’m not hungry’, so...”

“That’s—” She sighs. “Well, he’s asleep now, so we’ll just make sure he eats in the morning...” She tastes her stew and then reaches for the spices. “In the meantime, we should figure out where we’re going to be heading for this ‘case’. If we’re going to be figuring out whether or not the original Rig was framed for a murder that happened before the bombs even fell, then we need to figure out where to start. Maybe that ghoul lady who accused him in the first place?”

“You mean Lady?” Deacon grins.

“...Yes.”

“ _Are_ we looking into this?” Nick asks. “If this man isn’t even Miller...”

“It clearly means a lot to him, either way,” Echo points out. “If he’d be willing to follow ‘Tim’ to Diamond City for this...” She turns the heat on low and scoops out two bowls of stew and slides one over to Deacon. “Besides. This isn’t the only mystery about this guy we need to solve. What better way to figure out who he is and where he came from than by keeping him around and finding out secrets while in his shadow?”

“Aww,” Deacon coos. “You learned something from me after all. I’m touched!”

“We probably shouldn’t bring him back to Buttonwood,” Nick reminds. “I don’t want to leave him on his own, so we’ll leave someone with him while the rest of us go talk with Lady.” 

In the other room, “Rig Miller” stares at the wall, noting how thin they must be for him to have heard all of that. He lets go of Dogmeat to flip onto his other side, lets Dogmeat curl up against his back, and he closes his eyes and this time actually falls asleep.

* * *

Night parts away to morning sunrise. Nick leaves for a quick run to the office to let Ellie know what the plan is, Deacon slips out for his own, unknown business, leaving Echo to take Dogmeat out for his usual morning walk. She looks into the guest room Dogmeat awake, tail wagging expectantly as Rig sleeps soundly.

She could leave Rig to sleep while she and Dogmeat head out, but with Nick and Deacon both gone, she doesn’t want to leave a stranger alone in her place. Especially one who, if he actually did come from a vault—she shudders at the thought—won’t know what’s what should he wake up alone...

“Rig,” she says, just loud enough to try and wake him, but the man’s dead to the world. Dogmeat jumps down from the bed, and that doesn’t wake Rig either. Dogmeat trots up to her and sits at her feet, and she smiles at him. “You’re right,” she whispers. “It would be two birds with one stone...” She looks up at Rig again, making sure he’s asleep. She walks over, silent and tense as she prepares herself for what she might see... “Rig,” she whispers, and she reaches out for his shoulder. “Time to wake up...” Her hand lands on his shoulder, and the world changes around her.

_It’s a bright day, in a relatively clean house. Well organized, surfaces clear of clutter, perhaps a bit dusty but there’s only so much a human can do. It’s not like every household can afford a Mr. Handy, thank you very much. Dinner is cooking in the oven, the window curtains are open to let in the summer light, and he’s content to sit at the table and write in one of his journals. The front door opens and there’s the sound of keys dropping in their holder in the foyer followed by a call of a joking “Honeypie, I’m home!”_

_“Dinner will be ready soon!” he calls back without looking up from his writing. This is just their little game of pretend. That he’s the househusband instead of just a roommate. “Did you have a nice day at work?”_

_He jumps when hands slam down on the table in front of him, and he looks up to see his roommate’s grinning face. “Rig? What’s wrong?”_

_Rig, a blond man in a polo shirt and business khakis, laughs, sunny and full of pride. “Why do you ask that when I’m_ **_clearly_ ** _happy about something, huh? You know that raffle at work? To get places in Vault 113?”_

_He blinks. “I thought you said the drawing wasn’t until Friday—”_

_“Yeah,” Rig smirks and leans forward. “But I know who the winners are going to be...”_

_“...And?” he asks. “Didn’t you say most people bought, like, dozens of tickets? You said you could only afford one for each of us...”_

_“We only_ **_need_ ** _those two tickets, buddy.” Rig practically lies on the table as he reaches to hold his cheek. “Your genius roommate figured out how to_ **_rig_ ** _the raffle so our tickets will be two of the ones drawn.”_

_His eyes widen, he gasps. The sentence processes in his mind... And he grins and dives in to hug Rig. “You did! You got us covered! We’re in!”_

_“You know it!” Rig laughs again and holds him tight. “I couldn’t let anything happen to my favorite poet, after all...”_

__

Something shifts under her hand, tethering her back to reality. She pulls her hand back as Rig flops onto his back and stares up at her, a lack of recognition on his face.

“Sunglasses?” he mumbles.

Echo reaches for her eyes and quickly turns away. Fuck. Shit. She forgot.

“You have nice eyes,” he yawns as he sits up. “Gray. S’nice color.”

“Uhhhhh, thanks.” She looks to Dogmeat who runs around in a circle before exiting the room. “I have to take Dogmeat for his morning walk. Nick and Deacon are out right now too. Did you want to come with me?”

“Oh... Sure?” Rig rubs his eyes and then gets out of bed. “Hm. Wonders of the universe. Sleep really does help people be people. I’m a person.”

She looks back at him, squinting in suspicion. “Do you not sleep normally?”

He shrugs. “I _try_ , but I don’t always fall asleep... But I try.”

She hums and eyes him cautiously. “...What about eating...?”

“Not hungry,” he says, just like Deacon says he says.

“...What about _water?_ ”

“...Not thirsty.”

She frowns. “When was the last time you ate something? Had some water? Or anything to drink at all?”

Rig stops and looks around as he thinks. “I had... Fancy Lads yesterday? And... water the.... afternoon before?” He stares at the ground as if gears are _finally_ turning in his head. “...That’s bad, isn’t it? Hmm...”

Dogmeat returns to Echo’s side and nudge’s her hand. She looks down and takes the sunglasses he fetched for her. She wipes the dog drool off and then puts them on.

“You’re going to eat some fruit,” she orders. “At least for now. We’re going to get you an actual meal after we get back from Dogmeat’s walk. Make sure you’re fully fed before we leave Diamond City.”

Rig sighs but nods. “Yeah...”

“And in the _meantime_ ,” she smiles. “You and I are going to talk.”

“...Okay?”

* * *

Rig watches the streets and paths they take on the walk with Dogmeat. Dogmeat runs around, exploring the area around them, and runs back as a fluffy baby full of energy. It’s almost enough to distract Rig from the fact Echo is asking him questions.

“So, where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are y—”

“South,” he says.

She turns her head towards him, mouthing something he doesn’t catch. He needs to learn to read lips. “...South what?”

“South of Massachusetts,” he says. He hesitates. “Uh... Florida...?” He reaches to rub his neck again, but this time catches himself and switches hands before he hits his head with the Pip-Boy again. “I don’t know if Florida would have... survived the war. Scary to think about. Florida was frightening _before_...” He waves his hands around. “ _This_. But bloodblugs...” He grimaces. “Would be worse, down there. Gators. Spiders. Snakers. ...Locals.”

“...Sure,” she says. “And when did you move up here?”

“1842.” He sighs and buries his face in his hands. “2062,” he corrects. “Came up for school... Didn’t... last long. But I stayed anyway. Moved in with a friend...”

“What’s the friend’s name?” she asks, watching Dogmeat root through a discarded box.

“Ricki.” He sighs and slumps his shoulders. “Wonder what happened to her... She was... more my later roommate’s friend...”

“Oh?” Echo tilts her head. “A laaaater roommate?” she emphasizes as if prying for information.

“I don’t...” Rig looks away and holds his arms. “Want to... talk about him...”

“Hmm...” Echo watches him a bit more. He continues to look away, hoping she can’t read minds... She shrugs at him. “Fair enough. So we’re going to head back to Buttonwood today. Should take a half a day—”

“What?” Rig asks, finally looking up at her. “It took one and a half days to get here from there.”

Echo wrinkles her nose. “Deacon took you on a run-around, didn’t he? I mean, sometimes it takes me that long if I lose my sense of direction, but Deacon has no excuse.”

“...So it _doesn’t_ take that long to travel places here normally?”

“Assuming you don’t get lost or attacked by something, not usually.”

“Huh...” He looks at his Pip-Boy and switches the to map, hoping that it miraculously fixed itself aaaaand nope that’s a screen filled entirely with green. “...How did I mess this up this badly?” he mumbles. “What did I _do?_ When did I even break this?”

“I have a friend who could fix that for you,” Echo says, snapping Rig out of his thoughts. “I’ll introduce you to him sometime, and we can get that taken care of.”

Rig looks down at the Pip-Boy, up at Echo, and then shakes his wrist. “I don’t like it. Take it off. I don’t want it on me.”

“I mean, it’s kinda useful when it’s not broken—”

“I’m left-handed,” Rig says. “It’s _in the way_.”

“Oh...” Echo chews her lip and then points off in a direction. “When we get back to my place, I’ll help get it off of you.”

“Please, I’ve been suffering for six hundred years.”

Echo grins. “Really? It’s been a millennium for me.”

“Tragic, truly,” Rig says. “Centuries of pain. Centri— Centrions of— Of buffering.”

“Sleep not enough for you?” Echo laughs. “You still have a loading screen in your mind?”

“It reads ‘flargent system plerror.’”

“Sounds like a glitch to me.”

“I am very much nonsensical.”

“You don’t say.” Echo chuckles and then whistles for Dogmeat to come back up to her. “Alright, let’s get back and get you some actual breakfast.”

“Bokay.” Rig looks down and pokes his stomach. “Still not hungry... Weird... Am I dreaming?” He looks up at Echo. “Am I dreaming?”

“This is reality,” she says. “If you’re delirious, though, that’s on you.”

He furrows his brow. “Hmm.” He blinks when something nudges his hand and he looks down to see Dogmeat. He smiles and crouches down to pet him. “I like your dog,” he says. “He’s a good dog.”

“He’s his own man,” Echo nods. “Let’s get going.”

Rig nods and stands back up, and he follows after her.

“ _Do_ you think this is just a dream?” Echo asks, tilting her head towards him. “Is that why you’re taking it so well? If it’s only been a few days...”

“All that we see or seem,” Rig utters on impulse. Well, on a more substantial impulse than most of his other impulsive dialogue. “Flargent system plerror” and all. He shakes his head. “It— Buh. It started to sink in on my second day? But I... I mean...”

He darts his eyes around, at the structures cobbled together with scrap and good intentions. At the people going on their early morning business. Everyone still living despite all the destruction that occurred... Everything and everyone that seems to know what they’re doing with experience far exceeding his own. Even children run around, giggling with more confidence as they play tag on streets familiar to them than he has in any ounce of his body. The brunette and the man with black hair and sunglasses she’s chatting with probably both have some purpose or direction with their life that he never had, even before a war he doesn’t remember happening...

He sighs. “Don’t know what to do,” he says. He tiptoes through his word choices. No impulse, this time. He needs to put thought behind what he says, at least every now and then. He motions at his head. “Very. Not in the right mindset to figure out anything. Just want to prove I’m not a murderer and... put off finding a place for myself as long as I can... I can’t work with— With a big, scary goal like what— what my life is going to be like now. Everything’s changed but... I haven’t yet. I’m like...” He clasps his hands together. “In a bubble. Just— Bloop— Floating around. But...” He pulls his hands away, mimicking an explosion. “Boom. Pop. Something’s... gonna happen. Bubbles burst. I don’t know enough to say if I’ll be fine when it does...”

“Hmm.” Echo hums. “Poetic.”

He blinks and then smiles. “Yeah...?”

“What did you do before the war?” she asks. “After we clear your name, that will help figure out what you can do now...”

“I...” He stops and stares ahead, mind racing as he thinks back to the conversation from the night before. Does he say what Rig would say? Does he say the truth? Does he lie? He can’t fix computers. He broke the one on his wrist just by trying to take it off. Stupid— _Stupid_ — He’s so _stupid—_

“Rig?” Echo asks, and he jolts and looks at her. “Do you... not remember what you did, or...?”

“...I cleaned,” he says, falling back on what he told Tim— Told Deacon. “I cooked and cleaned. Didn’t get out much ‘less my roommate took me to hang out with his friends. I, um...” He wiggles his hand as he tries to remember the right words. “Followed instructions to do things? Like... putting together parts to... _make_ things. Didn’t really... Learn to do _big_ things...”

“What about school?” she continues. “You said you came here for school?”

His lips thin. Lectures in large rooms full of a hundred or more strangers. Struggles to write papers in different formats for similar classes. Sickness from stress over fear of wasting money by failing classes. The lack of relief from passing every class, knowing it’d start all over again next semester... Quitting before getting far enough for it to matter... “No,” he says, quiet and kicking at dirt and lost dreams. “Failed and had to drop out. Didn’t learn anything.” Lies, lies, _lies_.

He had a 4.0.

He learned math and science.

He was going to be a _scientist_.

He _gave up_ and became _nothing_...

He glances to Echo to see her watching him again. She looks... What is that? Sympathy? Oh, because he’s... sad he failed, right... That makes sense...

“That’s alright,” she says, smiling at him in comfort he doesn’t deserve from a stranger. “We’ll find something for you to do. But first, we’re going to prove your innocence. I promise.”

He swallows and nods. “Thank— Thank you.” He looks up at his surroundings again...

They’re back at Echo’s place and he didn’t even realize.

* * *

Rig spends a good amount of time flexing his wrist after Echo gets the Pip-Boy off of him. He doesn’t know what she did with it, nor does he care. He’s just happy to have his wrist free from the imprisonment of a big bulky thing and not having to use his right hand for stuff he rather use his left for. 

_Floating under cover — I feel like I’m in a bubble_

He eats the breakfast Echo gives him, drinks the Nuka-Cola she passes him, feels no different about if he’s hungry or thirsty, yet feels better somehow...

_Floating undercover - Feeling like I’m in a bubble_

Nick gets back. Deacon gets back, in new clothes. Weird, he looks like that man with the dark hair he saw earlier... They head out of the city and make their way back to Buttonwood, first past the skeletal remains of old Boston buildings... This was once _Boston_ , that’s why it looks familiar...

_Floating in a—_ No wait...

_Floating undercover - Feeling like I’m in a bubble_ _  
_ _Safety hidden—_ No, hmm...

_Safety missing from the picture - Bad luck could lead to trouble_

“So, Rigsby,” Deacon says, and Rig jumps and looks at him. “You got a dreamy look on your face. All soft and quiet, like something’s running through your mind. Thinking of someone _special?_ ” He frames his fingers around Nick and Echo up ahead. “Because, telling you now, if it’s a certain detective or his partner, both of them are working their legs off running in each other’s minds already...” He moves the finger frame to Dogmeat sniffing at things up ahead. “ _Dogmeat_ , though... That pup has enough energy to—”

“Cadence,” Rig says.

“That’s a weird name, but I’m not here to judge.”

“I like your cadence,” Rig clarifies. “It’s a good...” He twirls a finger around. “It’s a good sound— words— thing. All— All, uh...” He makes a click with the tip of his tongue. Exactly where the word he’s looking for is supposed to be. “It’s dry but... springy. Like— Like a mattress. I could lay on— lie on? Lie—?” He sighs and motions at Deacon with a stiff gesture. “I like how you talk.”

Deacon chuckles, sounding a _bit_ nervous, and takes a step to the side, away from Rig. “Coming on a little strong there, huh?”

Rig blinks. “What?” He pauses a moment, thinking of nothing as he tries to wait for whatever Deacon means to manifest in his mind. “ _What?_ ” he asks, even more confused than from all the comments from the other day.

“You mean you’re not...?” Deacon looks over Rig. He blows air past his lips and chuckles again, just as nervous as before but this time with an added embarrassment. “Oh, _right_ , of course you wouldn’t be— So you just _say_ things without thinking about how weird it sounds, huh?”

“Gee,” Nick calls from over his shoulder. “It’s not like we know anyone else who does that.”

Echo snorts.

Rig frowns. “I... speak... not good.” He groans and face palms. At least he can use his left hand and not have it be uncomfortable now.

“Hmm.” Deacon smirks. “What I would give to see what it’s like in your head if this is how you talk.”

Echo turns around to point finger guns at him. “If you want me to track down Whisper—”

“ _No_.” Deacon crosses his arms and sweeps his hands out. “N-O. I don’t want her in my head. You _know_ this.”

“You say that like I can stop her,” Echo smirks and turns back around. “She loves her soaps, after all.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Deacon shudders. “I’m going to be self-conscious about what I think for, uh... _life_.”

“What?” Rig asks again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Echo says.

“There are people with psychic powers?”

“Don’t worry about iiiiit,” Echo says. She looks back at him. “Also, yes.”

“Wow...” Rig taps his chin in thought and then points as he thinks of something. “What about aliens?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Deacon grins. “Met several myself. They were all...” He puts on a higher voice, “‘Deacon, you’re so cool and charming, you should come with us to our home planet’ and I was all...” He uses a manly, heroic tone, “‘Sorry, I have a duty to the Earth’.”

“Lucky,” Echo huffs up. “The ones _I_ met tried to _kill_ me.”

Nick sighs. “Don’t listen to either of them.”

Dogmeat barks.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Nick says. “Thank you, Dogmeat.”

“You can talk to dogs?” Rig gasps.

“Sure, I can,” Nick says. “Now, _understanding_ them, that’s another story...”

“Oh...” Rig looks away in disappointment.

“ _I_ can understand him,” Echo counters. “Nick, Dogmeat was agreeing with _me_.”

Nick sighs. “I just don’t want to give Rig the wrong idea about things.”

“I dunno,” Deacon says. “He’s met a ghoul, he’s met a synth, why not introduce him to an alien too?”

“Well, if you know any that won’t try and steal his brain or something, then be my guest.”

“Oh, _sure_ , Rig want to ditch these two and go meet—”

“Shh,” Echo hushes.

Deacon shuts up immediately and reaches for something. Dogmeat is alert, Nick watching for something, Echo listening...

Rig glances to them, tensing up but in no way knowing what to do or what’s going on.

“Deacon,” Nick whispers. “You hang back with Rig. Get under cover and wait for us.”

“Rigsby.” Deacon motions for Rig to follow.

Rig swallows and nods and shuffles after Deacon. They duck into a building, just as Dogmeat growls and charges off behind them, and just as Echo and Nick shout and take off after.

“Hey.”

Rig looks up and sees Deacon leaning against a long forgotten desk, gun drawn, but grinning at him.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” Deacon motions for Rig to step out of the way. “You’re in good hands. I mean, I get that pre-war values ‘killing is wrong’ and ‘I’m not a murderer and I’d never kill anyone’ and all, _but_ things are a bit more _laissez-faire_ here... We’re the good guys, though. It’s self-defense or because someone is doing terrible things...”

Rig thins his lips and walks around looking at what’s there to find in the office they’re camping in... “Don’t know if I could... Y’know...”

“It’d defeat the point of proving you didn’t commit a murder,” Deacon nods. “I get it, don’t worry. Besides, I don’t think you could hurt a bloatfly even if you wanted to. And _trust me_ , you _want_ to before they get you.”

“Hmm.” Rig spies what looks like a magazine tucked between a filing cabinet and the wall. He tugs it out and brushes some of the dirt and grime off the cover... His eyes widen and he thumbs first to the table of contents and then to the correct page...

“Find something?” Deacon asks.

“Mm-hmm.” Where is...? _There_. Perfect. Still readable.

He tears out the page and tosses the rest of the magazine onto the top of the filing cabinet.

“You want just the one page?” Deacon cranes his neck, but Rig gently folds the page and slides it into his pocket. “What’s on it?”

“...A poem,” Rig says. “By, um... Apollo Ray.”

“You a fan or something...?”

“...Yeah...”

“What’s the poem about...?”

“...Love poem...”

“Aww, the sappy, romantic type, huh?”

“Oh.” Rig shakes his head. “No, it’s terrible. Superficial and bubblegum.”

Deacon lifts his brow. “But you’re still taking it?”

“...Because it’s by Apollo Ray,” he says.

“Sure, okay.” Deacon grins. “Let me tell you about _my_ favorite poet, Leslie ‘Pit Boss’ Hamilton... Wrote great works such as ‘Put the Gorilla Back in the Cage or So Help Me’.”

“A classic,” Rig says as he explores more. “ _Apes belong in cages, not loose on city streets. Put it back behind its bars or so help me, I’ll feed you to it as treats._ ” He finds a few pens and a piece of dirty paper and tests the pens out and pockets the ones that work. He realizes how quiet it is after a moment and looks up to find Deacon grinning madly at him. “...What?”

“You make that up on the spot?” he asks.

“...Yeah.”

He laughs. “ _Wow_. So you’re a poet too, then?”

Rig shrugs. He opens a drawer and something jumps out at him, and he immediately leaps out of the way, his arms flinging up to protect himself from whatever monstrous creature that was, only to watch its guts explode seconds after. He looks at Deacon and his smoking gun.

“Radroach,” Deacon shrugs, nonchalant. “You okay?”

Rig nods and just. Closes the drawer. If there’s anything in there, he doesn’t want it. Terrifying. Absolutely horrible. If this _is_ a dream, he’d like to wake up now, please.

“If you think _that’s_ scary, wait until you see a Deathclaw.” Deacon motions with his hand above his head. “Big, scary meatheads. Twenty feet of scaly skin and murder claws. _Not_ friendly.”

Rig grimaces. “Right...”

“But, you know, not impossible to take down! _Echo_ went toe-to-claw with one a while back. That’s how she got that wicked face scar.”

Rig thumbs the scar under his lip. That’s a cooler story than how he got his... And Echo’s is... down the side of her face, and very visible, even with the sunglasses on... Probably was really painful... “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yep. Good ol’ Echo. I could tell you _loads_ of stories about her and Nick.”

Rig perks up. “Yeah?”

* * *

Echo and Nick make their way back to Deacon and Rig, with Dogmeat trotting along just ahead of them.

“Well, that’s going to slow us down getting to Buttonwood,” Nick groans.

“Yeah,” Echo sighs. “So much for it taking half a day...”

“I was expecting more like a day and a half anyway,” Nick says. He smirks and gently nudges her. “Especially with you leading us.”

Echo groans. “I _get_ it, I get _lost_.” They lapse into silence for a bit, enjoying the peace of the now empty streets. “So...” she starts.

“So,” Nick replies.

“ _Soooooo_...” Echo chews her lip and then decides the best course of action is to just say it. “Rig really is from Pre-War.”

“You got an ‘echo’ from him?” Nick asks.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “Saw him in a Pre-War home talking to the original Rig...”

“So he’s _not_ a synth,” Nick says. “I— hmm...”

Echo gives him a look. “...What?”

“Nothing,” Nick says. “Deacon and I have a little bet, that’s all...”

“That he’s a synth?”

“No, not specifically,” Nick chuckles. “Deacon bet he could sleuth out who or what this Rig is before I can. If you know, don’t tell us. That’s cheating, apparently. Synth was my best guess so far.” He hums. “Maybe a clone...”

“We’ll workshop it,” Echo grins. She looks ahead at the sound of laughter. “Sounds like those two are having a good time.”

“Too good a time, if you ask me,” Nick says. “Those two get on a bit _too_ well. Like peas in a pod. Not sure how I feel about there being _two_ Deacons.”

“Except one has all the charisma and intelligence, and the other has all the style.”

Nick laughs. “Rig’s the one with the style, I’m guessing.”

“Mm-hmm.” Echo giggles and then walks into the office where Deacon and Rig are chatting. “Hey.” She pauses to let Dogmeat squeeze past her and run up to Rig who eagerly pets him. “We’re back.”

“Eeey!” Deacon grins. “There’s my favorite sharpshooter. We were just talking about you.”

“Oh no,” Echo groans. She looks at Rig. “Whatever he told you, it’s probably a lie.”

Rig shrugs. “I mean, I figured. He said you took on a Deathclaw on your own and that’s how you got your cool scar?” He motions up and down the right side of his face.

Echo’s hand goes to the right side of _her_ face, where her scar is. “Oh, uh... _that_ one is true...”

“Oh!” Rig blinks several times. “Wait, so then what about the story about you kissing a synth detective in a heat of passion after narrowly escaping death?”

Echo’s face turns red as she turns to glare at Deacon’s smarmy grin.

“Oh look at the time!” Deacon looks at his empty wrist. “Is it time to pick up lunch already? I’ll be _right_ back—”

Nick stands in the doorway, a light dusting of blue on his cheeks, and gives Deacon a look. “With all the lies you’ve been feeding the kid, I can’t imagine he’d be hungry now.”

Rig smiles and covers it with his hand as he looks away. In his other hand, he feels along the spine of a book. Echo looks at it and hums.

“What did you find?” she asks. Dogmeat walks back up to her and sits at her side.

“Hmm?” Rig looks at her and then down at the book in his hand. “Oh... Journal. Mostly blank, slightly damaged...”

Deacon shakes his head. “I asked him what he was going to do with it and he said _write_. Can you believe it? Like some kind of _writer_.”

“Not a bad idea,” Nick says. “Anyway, this pitstop really slowed us down. We ought to get moving again if we want to be somewhere safe by nightfall.”

“And _you_.” Echo points at Rig. “Whatever Deacon tells you about us, unless Nick or I say otherwise, assume it’s a lie. Actually, assume most things he says are a lie.”

“Guilty as charged.” Deacon chuckles. “But that’s part of my charm.”

“Compulsive lying isn’t very charming,” Nick says.

“I’ll win you over eventually,” Deacon grins. “Just you wait. Echo’s got competition.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

Dogmeat barks. Echo grins and pets him.

“That’s right, Dogmeat,” she says. “I _don’t_ have competition. Alright.” She stands straight and whistles, and Dogmeat stands back up. “Ready to go, boys?”

“Hey, first?” Deacon asks. “Do you want to see the cool radroach I killed earlier?”

“ _No!_ ”

“C’mon, it had a cool hat and everything.”

“...What kind of hat?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Rig, Dogmeat, let’s leave these two to poke dead bugs on their own.”

Rig hurries out after Nick with Dogmeat following behind.

Echo looks after them and then at Deacon. “So...?”

“He likes a poet called Apollo Ray and can write his own poems too,” Deacon says. “That’s all I’ve got for you so far. What did you and Nick...?”

“Ferals.”

“Ah. ...Now, seriously, do you want to see this radroach?”

Echo wrinkles her nose. She turns and heads out after the others.

Deacon grins and stands there a moment. “No?” His smile drops and he sighs and shoves his hand under his sunglasses to rub his eyes. He takes a breath, plasters a smile back on his face, and then hurries to catch up.


	5. There's a Lot of Talk About Mirelurks in this One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad stops for the night and have a heartfelt conversation about crab puns and mirelurk allergies. Also they finally make it back to Buttonwood.

“Coming to you live from west of that weird pile of rocks, it’s your favorite program, _Cooking with Mirelurks_.”

Rig bites the end of his pen as he listens to Deacon talk to himself as he cooks up the mirelurks the others killed just before they decided to stop for the night. Mirelurks. Kinda cute, compared to bloodbugs. He wouldn’t mind being killed by one of those, if he had to pick a way to die. He opens up his “new” journal and writes down the sentence Deacon just said. He wants to keep that...

He watches Deacon work over a hotplate in their little “campsite” made of the decaying skeleton of an old gas station. Picked clean of anything useful and then some, with peeling paint and rusted signs and the old gas prices on the marquee outside reading an impressive green “L’s Angels” from some artist long gone and down a bucket of paint judging by the large green splatter spread across the cracked concrete under the sign.

Echo and Nick come back to their “camp” with Dogmeat trailing them. Echo stands in the doorway for a moment, until Dogmeat nudges her leg. When Echo sits down, Dogmeat lies down just next to her, and she pets him. Nick stands in the entrance as well and tugs out a pack of cigarettes.

“Everything’s clear,” Nick says. “For now.”

“Great,” Deacon says. “I could use a quiet night.”

“Is the food done yet?” Echo asks.

“Shhh,” Deacon hushes. “You can’t rush an artist at work. Or roasted mirelurk meat. Unless you want a trip to Food Poisoning Station, in which case, all aboard.”

Rig writes that down too.

The other three start up a conversation while Deacon cooks, with Nick standing in the doorway to smoke. Rig blinks at him, wondering for a moment if that does anything for him. He looks over to Echo and sees her with her face towards him, though the glasses make it hard to see where she’s looking. Rig decides to keep out of the conversation, keep his thoughts to himself, and he turns to another page in his journal to try and remember that poem he was thinking of earlier... He writes _something_ down, at least.

_Floating over danger_ _  
_ _Protected by a bubble_ _  
_ _Of everything that’s changed around me;_ _  
_ _Of unexperienced trouble_

_A war long past I don’t remember,_ _  
_ _Slept through two hundred years plus more._ _  
_ _Time I never got to live through_ _  
_ _But that still holds me back from all this lore._

_Where will I be the day this bubble pops?_ _  
_ _Will I have landed safely, or will it be a long drop?_ _  
_ _Is this something I could comprehend before I’m killed by ignorance?_ _  
_ _Is survival something I can learn to do, or am I destined to stay dense?_

“Rig.”

Rig looks up and sees Echo handing him some of the meat. He opens his mouth to say something.

“No saying you’re not hungry,” she says. “Take it and eat it.”

“...Thank you,” he says, brow furrowing a bit. He sets his journal aside and takes the meat and silently chews on it. Hmm. Much better tasting than bloodbug.

...Hopefully he isn’t allergic to mirelurk. He thinks back to that time getting hives from eating crab. Terrible...

“So those ferals slowed us down,” Nick starts. “But we should make it to Buttonwood tomorrow before noon, assuming nothing else gets in the way. Rig, how are you holding up?”

Rig picks at his food. Tastes good, but is it supposed to be this color...? What color is cooked crab meat supposed to be again?

“Rig?”

“Hnuh?” Rig asks, jumping to attention. “Wha?”

“You’re being quiet, Rig,” Echo points out. “Are you feeling _crabby_ because I told you to eat?”

“Yeah,” Rig answers.

Deacon laughs. “ _Wow_ , that was blunt.”

Rig shrugs. “I stopped eating crab when I was 18 because it gave me hives.”

Echo, Nick, and Deacon share a look while Rig continues to eat.

“Rig,” Echo says. “If you’re allergic—”

“It’s been 200 years,” Rig says. “Maybe it’s different now? No hives, just jives?”

Dogmeat ruffs, seemingly in disapproval.

Deacon chuckles. “Why risk death being eaten by a mirelurk when you could die from _eating_ a mirelurk, right?”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Rig nods. “Tastes good, at least. I’ll die happy and unfulfilled and itchy-scratchy. ...Maybe not die happy.”

Nick squints. “I’m no doctor, but one, if you think you might be allergic then maybe _don’t_ eat that. Two, if you really are from before the war and haven’t eaten the food out here yet, you ought to be more careful anyway. You aren’t used to it, and it could make you sick.”

Rig shrugs. “The first thing I ate after waking up was bloodbug so nothing has any meaning in my sad, distant life.” He takes another protest bite in response to Nick’s look of disapproval and slowly chews. He stares at his food for a moment and then gasps and points at Echo, a grin spreading on his face. “You made a pun! That was really good! I like that!”

Echo lifts her brow. “Well, if you don’t die from an allergic reaction tonight, you’ll get to hear more of them.” She smirks. “If you don’t become a sight for sore hives.”

“God, don’t be _shellfish_ , Echo,” Deacon scoffs. “You can’t take all the good puns for yourself.”

“ _Crab-ulous_ ,” Nick sighs. “Seriously, Rig, are we going to have to worry about you _dying_ from anaphylactic shock? If we need to get you a stimpak...”

Rig squints. “Stimpak...?” He looks over when Echo pulls something from her bag. He sees the point of a needle and immediately jumps to his feet and backs several feet away. “No, no, no, no, _absolutely the heck not_.”

“Heck?” Nick mumbles.

“Not a fan of needles?” Deacon asks. “You practically teleported ten feet away there, Rigs.”

Rig continues to back away. “I’m not sitting back down until I can’t see _that_ anymore.”

“Hey,” Nick says. “Don’t call Deacon a ‘that’.”

Rig looks to Nick, blinking in confusion, giving Echo enough time to hide the stimpak away again.

“Abracadabra,” she says, waving her empty hands. “I’ve made the stimpak _disappear_.”

“Neat trick,” Deacon grins. “Next, you ought to saw Nick in half.”

“I was thinking of pulling a mole rat from a hat, personally,” she says. She tilts her head towards Nick. “Nick, can I borrow your hat?”

“Sorry,” Nick answers. “Fresh out of mole rats.”

Rig furrows his brow. He shuffles forward, wary, and then sits down again. “...It was only one kind of crab that gave me hives,” he clarifies. “And only twice before I stopped eating all crab to be safe. I was fine with other shellfish. I might not even be allergic, just overly caution— cautious.”

“Better than being callous,” Deacon quips.

Rig blinks. “...Capricious.”

Deacon looks to Echo. Echo chews slowly. She snaps her fingers.

“Cavernous,” she supplies before looking to Nick.

Nick hums. “How about... Carnivorous.”

“Cantankerous,” Deacon laughs. “Are we just doing this now? This is how we’re passing the time?”

“Shush,” Echo waves at him. “It’s Rig’s turn.”

Rig taps his leg, squinting at the ground. “Carti-... Cartilaginous.”

Echo knits her brow together. She smirks. “...Campylotropous.”

“ _What?_ ” Nick asks. “I’m not going to follow _that_.”

“I fold,” Deacon says, raising his hands in surrender. “That’s not even a real word.”

Echo leans on her hand. “Mmm, it is. Just a part of plant anatomy and all that. A botany term.”

Rig tilts his head. “Huh... Nice.” He pauses a moment and then mumbles “Cacophonous.” He looks down at his journal and finishes the rest of his meal and wipes his hands on his pants before opening up the journal to the poem he had just written. He writes notes on the opposite page. “-Cacophonous -Cantankerous -carnivoroUS - CAvernous -Capricios - Calous -Cautious.” He skims over the notes and then inserts a quick ^U to make Capricio^Us and slips in an errant l to make Callous.

“I think the game’s over,” Deacon chuckles. “First place goes to... Echo! Dogmeat, tell her what she won.”

Dogmeat woofs and rolls over.

“You’ve won ‘giving belly rubs to the pup!’ Go on and get your hands in that fluffy dog fur.”

Echo laughs and accepts her prize. “Dogmeat’s the real winner then, huh?”

Nick looks over at Rig and spies him sketching something out. “Rig.”

Rig looks up, blinking. “Hmm?”

“If you wake up itchy or can’t breathe suddenly, tell someone _immediately_.”

Rig nods and flashes an OK with his hand. He returns to his drawing, trying to get the belly rub scene before him immortalized in blue ink on water-stained paper.

“So,” Deacon starts. “No beds here. Anyone bring any comfy pillows? Maybe a certain dog that’s being spoiled by a certain Echo I know?”

Dogmeat boofs. He nudges Echo’s bag with his nose. When she opens it, he pops his head in and produces a soft pillow which he carries over to the corner. He drops it and lies down on it.

“Oh, come on,” Deacon sighs.

Rig chuckles. “What a smart dog. I love him.”

Echo reaches into the bag and pulls out a second pillow and tosses it at Rig. “Here.”

Rig drops his journal and pen to catch it, and the pen bounces away. “Oh. Thanks.”

“It probably has dog drool on it,” Nick points out.

Rig looks down at the pillow and then at Deacon. “You wanted a pillow, right?”

“I changed my mind,” Deacon says, moving to sit against the wall. “I’m good here. Night.”

“Oh.” Rig leans over to grab his pen and clips it back to the journal before tucking that away. “Night.”

With that, everyone turns in for the night, save for Nick who stays up to keep watch...

A couple hours into the evening, Nick steps outside to smoke. He barely has his cigarette lit before a second figure steps out of the gas station to sit on old rubble with him, pulling out his own cigarette. Nick offers Deacon his lighter, and the two of them sit quietly for a few seconds.

“You any closer to winning the bet?” Deacon asks.

“Apparently not,” Nick answers. “Echo told me a bit she learned about him but I’m still working out the finer details.”

“I’ve got a few theories myself,” Deacon says. “I’m thinking... synth alien clone.”

“How exactly would _that_ work?”

“Hey, you know how the Institute was.” He tilts his head. “Come on, I know _your_ main theory is that he’s a synth. I gotta make mine different somehow.”

“I don’t know about that,” Nick frowns. “But what I _do_ know is that Echo found out he moved to the area for school in 2062.”

“Knew it,” Deacon scoffs. “ _Five years_. He told me five years before the bombs.” He shakes his head. “Either his head is scrambled enough his math is _terrible_ or he’s—”

“A liar who keeps changing his story every time he’s asked?” Nick supplies. “No wonder you’re following him around.”

“Liars attract liars,” Deacon says. “I told you this.”

“ _That’s_ not it.” Nick gives Deacon a look, his glowing, golden eyes piercing in the dark night. “You’re trying to get the truth out of him. Get him to admit who he _really_ is and how he got in this situation. You’re just using that bet we made as an excuse for it.”

“ _And_ to get out of paying for this case,” Deacon offers with a shaky smile. “It’s not like this guy is anything special.”

“No?” Nick chuckles and leans back against the wall. “You could have left him to find my agency on his own the moment you got to Diamond City.” He pauses a moment, smoking his cigarette to fill the dramatic silence before he continues. “But no,” he says, watching the night and the smoke of their cigarettes swirl with every exhale into the ether. “You stuck around, you made sure he found the Agency. You could have left anytime after that. You know I’m not going to make the kid pay for this. Fresh out of... _somewhere_ with only fourteen caps to his name. Even if the case is a bust, you know you could have left and Echo and I would have found him a place somewhere to start over.”

“Oh, I’m allowed to leave?” Deacon asks. “And here I thought we were working as a team. For old time’s sake.” He rubs the back of his head and looks towards the entrance to the station where Echo shifts and reaches for her sunglasses while Rig lies like a corpse. “If that’s the case, then I guess I’ll pack up and head off on my own.” He extinguishes his cigarette on the ground. “Pave my own way. A loner with half a clue what to do now that the thing he’s been doing for _how_ long is in a new chapter of its ongoing series with less work for him to worry about?”

Nick sits up, dropping his own cigarette. “You’re _bored?_ Really?” He looks down, sighs, and stamps on the butt to put it out.

“Wellll,” Deacon’s voice squeaks a bit as he stretches out the word. “I wouldn’t say _bored_. More that my, uh... unique services aren’t being put to use as much as I’m used to nowadays.”

Nick pinches the bridge of his nose. “You really ought to look into another job. Something more productive than picking random people to follow around looking for information.” He lowers his hand and tilts his head at Deacon. “Who knows. Maybe if you stick around and do a good job helping with this case, there’ll be a job opening at a certain detective agency for you.”

“You’d really put me on the payroll?” Deacon grins. “You don’t even want to charge for this case.”

“Well, if _you’re_ not paying, how do you expect someone with only _fourteen caps_ to pay?”

“Could have sworn he had fifteen.” Deacon chuckles. “Then again, he thinks 2062 to 2077 is _five_ years, so I don’t trust his counting skills.”

“Well,” Nick hums. “Echo says he claims he failed school and dropped out...”

“Stay in school, kids,” Deacon quips. “Knowledge is a powerful weapon. Though if we’re going for more of a _kick_ , I’d prefer a rifle.”

“Mm-hmm.” Nick glances inside and then at Deacon. “You ought to get some rest before morning.”

“Trying to get rid of me already, huh?” Deacon chuckles. “Alright, Valentine, I’ll leave you on your lonesome. Before you start getting _cantankerous_.”

Nick gives him a look. “Now don’t you start that again.”

Deacon holds his hands up in defense. He gets up and heads inside, glancing from Echo petting Dogmeat to Rig, still breathing and not hive-ridden. Deacon rubs his eyes under his glasses and then sets himself up to rest against the wall again. He crosses his arms over his chest, closes his eyes...

* * *

_He opens his eyes to see two of his lackeys having yet another spat. The two of them hiss out quiet insults at each other, hurling threats of telling the boss between unfriendly shoves. “Hey!” he shouts, and the two stop immediately. “I was trying to sleep! What are you two going on about?”_

_“Boss,” the one on the left, a cute idiot, short and narrow, but sharp—usually. “_ ** _This_ ** _moron decided to graffiti the sign out front. ‘L’s angels’.”_

_“No one’s going to get it!” the one on the right insists. Obtuse, heavy, strong. Would be perfect if not for his penchant for “creative” ventures. “Who’s going to see that and know what it means? You didn’t have to spill the paint I was using.”_

_“L’s angels?” the boss asks. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”_

_“You know, because...” The big guy holds up an L with his hand and traces the inside of it. “_ ** _You_ ** _know.”_

_“What the_ **_shit_ ** _does that_ **_mean?_** _"_

_“It’s a visual pun.” A third lackey walks in, wiping green paint from his hands. This one is alright. The actual smartie pants of the three of them, with degrees in the 90th percentile or whatever he claimed joining the group. “I’ll explain later. I got the paint bucket cleaned out, so we can use that now. Boss, I think we ought to get going. Pretty sure I saw some folks snooping around.”_

_“Ugh.” The boss stands up and turns to look at his reflection in a dirty, broken mirror. Dark eyes stare back at a face with a missing nose and decaying skin. “I miss the days when the only thing I had to worry about were sirens...”_

_...In the distance, sirens wail. The lone gas station employee stares at his trembling reflection in the mirror he had_ **_just_ ** _cleaned that morning, at the world reflected in the mirror quickly turning red and filling with scary, deadly clouds._

_He drops to the ground and curls up, uttering one last prayer as everything becomes hot, hot, hotter still..._

Echo opens her eyes and rolls onto her side, taking in deep breaths to settle down the drumbeat of her heart. Every time, every place... She pats around the ground until she picks up her sunglasses and then puts them on.

Nick is outside, it seems. Talking with Deacon in voices just hushed enough that she can’t hear what. She’ll have to remember to ask about it in the morning.

Something pads up near her and she looks to see Dogmeat inch up to her. She holds up an arm and he takes the permission to squeeze into her hold and lick at her face. No tears, no fears, just doggy comfort.

She doesn’t say anything and merely pets him. She lifts her head to look at Rig—still asleep—and she lowers her head again. Better keep quiet then. It was just another dream, another memory. She’s used to them by now...

Nick and Deacon end their conversation. Deacon walks in, quiet and stealthy though Echo can tell when he passes by. He rests at the wall while Nick stays outside to keep watch.

Echo closes her eyes again. Even if she can’t go back to sleep, it’ll be better than no rest at all...

Morning can’t come fast enough.

* * *

Morning comes with Echo getting up first to get food from her bag to start up breakfast. Deacon looks up at her, Rig rolls over to see what the movement was, and Nick squints at Rig from across the room.

“No allergic reaction?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rig sits up and stretches his arms out in front of him. “Is it morning?”

“About 6 AM,” Echo says.

Rig wrinkles his nose. “What time did we turn in?”

“Trying to see how many hours of sleep you got?” Deacon asks.

“Didn’t sleep,” Rig says. “Tried, but... Ehn.”

“Yeah...” Echo agrees.

Deacon lifts his brow. “Oh, great. A group full of insomniacs. First one to get some sleep tonight wins a prize.”

“What’s the prize?” Rig asks.

“Sleep.”

Rig yawns. “Oh, that’s a great prize.”

“Well, at least you rested,” Nick says. “We’ve got a long day. Before we get to Buttonwood, we’re going to split up for a bit. If Lady thinks you killed her sister, we don’t want to make her upset by bringing you there again.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” Rig frowns. “So I’m being babysat?”

“We can’t leave you on your own,” Nick says. “Not unless you know how to defend yourself.”

Rig shakes his head. “I’m not complaining. I’m just blurg. I’m just— Just the situ— situation. S’bad.” He sighs. “I feel bad for her. And for whatever happened to her sister... S’miliar...”

“What’s similar?” Echo asks.

“What?” Rig asks, blinking in confusion. “Huh?”

“...Oh, look.” Echo pulls out a pack of Fancy Lads. “Looks like _someone_ put some Fancy Lads with _your_ name on it in _my_ bag.”

Deacon laughs. “Where _do_ these keep coming from?”

“Ooh, gimmie,” Rig reaches out and catches the package with only some fumbling when they’re tossed his way. “Thank you. How many of these did you set up?”

“None, it’s just coincidence,” Deacon says. “ _Honest_.”

“They’re still gross,” Rig says, opening the package to eat them. “Snack cakes, the quick way to die. By sugar, anyway.”

“I can think of five faster sugar related deaths,” Deacon says.

“Custard explosion,” Rig nods.

“Sugar bombs taken literal, huh?” Echo asks.

“Yeah.” Rig takes a bite and talks as he chews. “Open flame, and poof the powder and—” He chokes on his snack cake and turns his head away to cough.

Echo shakes her head. “He survives the mirelurk allergy only to die by snack cakes...”

Deacon holds his hands up in surrender. “I rescind my comment on knowing five faster sugar deaths.”

Echo slides Rig some water which he takes and drinks to clear his throat.

“—and then- ugh- it explodes,” Rig finishes. He clears his throat a final time and then takes another bite of his cakes and _doesn’t_ talk this time, like a _smart_ boy.

Nick looks to Deacon. “You got your work cut out for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Deacon asks.

“Well, since _you’re_ on babysitting duty...”

“Whaat?” Deacon whines. “I did it last time! Make Echo do it.”

“Can’t,” Echo smirks, “As Detective Nick Valentine’s trusted partner, I’m required to be with him during the Buttonwood interrogations. You know, since this is a case _Nick_ has been hired to do.”

“And _you’re_ not on the payroll yet,” Nick grins. “So. You get to make sure Rig doesn’t get himself killed while we’re talking to Lady.”

“Ughh, fine.” Deacon pouts. “But I’m making no promises.”

Rig chews on his cakes, eyeing Deacon as he swallows. “I’m in... good hands, right?”

“Oh, sure,” Deacon grins at him. “The best. I mean, considering I had my real hands replaced with robotic ones years ago—”

“ _Nope_ ,” Echo cuts in. “He did not.”

“You don’t know that,” Deacon says. “It could be true.”

“Don’t trust him,” she says. “He’ll keep you safe, but he _lies._ ”

“That’s my thing,” Deacon shrugs. “That, and robot hands.”

Rig points at Nick. “Robot hands.”

Deacon nods. “Exactly. Like Nick’s hands but fleshier.”

“Robot flesh,” Rig says. “A bucket a pound.”

“...I suddenly regret saying I have robot hands.”

Nick snorts and turns to hide his chuckles. Rig beams proudly and finishes off his cakes.

After the others eat their breakfast, they pack up and continue on the journey back to Buttonwood. There’s plenty of quips all around from the other three that Rig tries to commit to memory until he time to write them down later. Dogmeat runs around, constantly drawing Rig’s attention onto him and watching as Dogmeat will occasionally trot back up to Echo with a new find that she either adds to her bag or has him put back where he found it. Dogmeat walks up carrying a knife by the handle, and Rig immediately veers to the side and stands with Deacon and Nick in the way of him and Dogmeat.

“The dog can’t use a knife,” Nick says. “He has no thumbs.”

Rig grimaces and shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything more, and Echo has Dogmeat leave the knife behind.

Deacon hums. “You know, _I_ used a knife around you.”

“Different,” Rig says. “Knew what you were using it for. Also wasn’t...” He waves his hand. “ _Solid_.”

“Riiight,” Deacon says. “Noted.”

Eventually, the landscape becomes... unfamiliar... Rig blinks and looks around, trying to pinpoint where they are in relation to where he knows he’s been before... But this must have been before he was fully awake and alert to his surroundings. Trees in the distance, a stream parallel to their path, a scattering of buildings from what looks like a community that was never finished before the bombs fell. Skeleton frames of houses, all falling apart in rotten, unusable lumber. Construction vehicles long since ransacked of anything usable. The occasional empty bag of concrete powder or random toilet or bathtub that never got installed where they should.

He almost wants to photograph it. Maybe spare a few words for the eerie setting, at the least.

“This would be a good place for a settlement,” Echo muses. “It’s already got a reasonable layout. We just need to clear out the unusable stuff and build it up again.”

Rig tunes out of the discussion as they pass by an old clock, no longer telling time and covered in browning vines. He looks to the brick pavers around it, most of them worn down, but some of them still showing the names of their sponsors...

He steps away from the group to look for something.

“Rig?” Nick asks, following after. “What are you doing?”

“This— this is...” Rig snaps his fingers a few times as he looks for the word. “Cheer Gardens!” he says, grinning as he remembers. “It was still being built— Ricki was going to move here. We got a...” He looks down and kicks some plants aside. The brick is blackened from mildew, but he can still make out the etchings of the phrase “Middlesex Railroaders.”

Deacon and Nick peer over his shoulders, down at the brick.

“Railroaders, huh?” Deacon asks. “Funny. What were they, a train enthusiast club?”

“Mm-hmm,” Rig nods. “Ricki was in it. She train-spotted.”

“How hard is it to spot a train?” Deacon asks. “I mean, even when they actually went places, they’re pretty big and noticeable, aren’t they?”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” Nick says. “This all you wanted, Rig?”

“Yeah,” Rig nods. “I didn’t think...” He frowns. “I... Everything’s different. Everyone I knew is.... Is gone, huh...?”

“I mean, they _could_ still be around,” Deacon says. “You’re still here, right? And pre-war ghouls are a thing.”

Rig furrows his brow. “...Yeah,” he agrees. “Maybe. We— We can keep going...” He follows the other two back up to Echo who seems to be staring at something, standing still with Dogmeat nudging her hand gently.

Echo turns her head. “So...?”

“We can keep going,” Nick says. “Just a short trip down memory lane.”

“No kidding,” Echo says, and Nick chuckles as he takes the lead.

It takes nearly another hour of walking before they make it to the shade of some trees with Buttonwood on the horizon. Deacon gratefully takes a rest against the tree.

“Alright, Rigsby,” he says. “This is where we’re waiting.”

“Oh, okay,” Rig says, taking a seat next to him.

“So we’re clear,” Nick says. “We’re talking to a ghoul named Lady about the murder of her sister pre-war, supposedly by Rig Miller.”

Rig nods. “Yeah.”

“Sounds straight-forward,” Echo says. “I’d welcome an easy case.”

“You two stay out of trouble,” Nick calls over his shoulder as he turns to head into the distance.

“We’ll be back soon,” Echo adds, hurrying after Nick with Dogmeat at her heels.

It takes Rig like two seconds to pull out his journal and pen and he flips to the first pages to add some of the witty things said on this leg of the journey.

“I said in a farmhouse, not by a barnyard,” Deacon says.

“Oh, heck.” Rig crosses out the mistake and writes in the correct words.

“Because it was a pharmacy pun,” Deacon continues.

“ _Oh!_ That’s even more clever than I realized.”

“You’re just writing down the shit I say?”

Rig stares down at the growing list of quotes. He looks up at Deacon who _seems_ to be staring straight ahead, but... “Is... that weird? Do I need to stop?”

“No,” Deacon says. “Just... didn’t think the things I say would be worth quoting.”

Rig shrugs and flips through the pages to the nearest blank one. “It’d be better if I could get your tone right. The— The— Your cadence, like I said.” He furrows his brow at the page as he tries to figure out what he wants to do about Cheer Gardens... A poem would be nice, but... “It’s... really nice. You’re really fun to listen to.” He starts to sketch out a pole and the stopped clock on top and the vines growing on and around it. “Nick and Echo seem... buh— They’re weh— witty too, but...” He hums in thought. “You’re... creative, I think is the word?”

Deacon smirks. “Yeah? Glad you think so...” He leans back. “So... What’s _your_ story?”

“Hmm?” Rig looks up at him again. “What?”

“You asked me what _my_ story was,” Deacon says. “Well, you asked Tim. So what’s yours?”

Rig squints. “Did you really grow up on a farm or...?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Deacon grins. “Maybe _Tim_ did, but that doesn’t mean _Deacon_ did. Or does it?”

“You’re very honest about lying,” Rig says. “I like that.” He looks down just as he catches a flash of a frown in his peripheral, but when he looks back up, Deacon’s smile... fake smile...? Is back... “So, I... I grew up in another state. Far south. Moved to the area in 2062—”

“You told me five years,” Deacon points out.

Rig blinks. “ _Did_ I? What?”

“Yep,” Deacon says. “War happened in 2077, and you said you moved here _five years_ before that.”

Rig blinks. “ _Wow_. I don’t know why I said that. I just— I— I say things. Not always true things. Not intentional lies, just... forget what’s true...”

“John Hancock _is_ fictional, though,” Deacon says. “Founding fathers. Imaginary.”

Rig laughs. “Yeah... Yeah. Uh... No, I... moved here five-teen.” He drops his pen and then rests his face in his palm. “ _Fifteen_ ,” he corrects, again. “Fifteen years before whatever happened.”

“A war, presumably.”

“It’s _weird_ though.” Rig picks up his pen again and returns to drawing. “How’d I survive? 212 years? Shouldn’t I not be... Wouldn’t something have needed to happen for that? That vault...”

“Do you know how you got in the vault?” Deacon asks.

Rig frowns and presses his pen down a bit harder. “No... No, the— I remember weird bits, but not full things. 2077 is... I can remember up to August pretty clearly, but the months after are more...” He looks down at the sketch of Cheer Gardens which is quickly getting more inaccurate the more he adds. “Sketchy,” he says. “I don’t even know where my roommate was by the end of it... I feel like... He should have gone to the vault with me? But if he didn’t then... I don’t know what happened.”

Deacon chuckles. “Sounds like a mystery for Detective Nick Valentine. As the Agency’s new unpaid intern, I can arrange for Detective Valentine to take your case for the small fee of 10,000 caps.”

Rig shifts and reaches into his pocket and pulls out his caps to count all fourteen of them. “Do you offer no-interest loans with a lax ‘pay when you want’ installments?”

Deacon laughs. “Put those away. I’m joking.” He hums. “ _Unless_...”

Rig puts the caps away.

“Fair enough.” Deacon watches Rig return to his sketching. “So you moved here in 2062 and...?”

“Oh.” Rig draws a small spiral and builds up a wooden post around it. “And I went to school for a bit before dropping out... I moved in with my Railroader friend, Ricki, for a bit, until she introduced me to— to her friend and I moved in with him...”

“Where’d you go to school?”

“...Science Institute...”

Deacon shifts away slightly. “C.I.T.?”

“What?” Rig looks up in alarm. “ _No._ They’re horrible, and I hate them. They’re— They’re bullies who kept stealing our students to make us lose funding—” He cuts himself off and shifts away the opposite direction. “Um... P.I.T.S. Pleasantview Institute of Technology and Science.”

Deacon laughs. “ _Pits?_ ”

“The Pits, yeah,” Rig nods. “That’s what the rival schools called it. And the geology majors. And some professors.”

“The maintenance staff, the administration,” Deacon continues.

“Half the undergrads,” Rig hums. “ _And_ the volleyball team.”

Deacon hums a similar note. “Sounds like you’ve got opinions for someone who dropped out early after failing.”

Rig utters out utter, nervous gibberish and shrinks in on himself.

“Well.” Deacon says. “That was almost words. You want more stories about Nick and Echo to pass the time while we wait for them to come back?”

“No— I...” Rig scribbles out the person he tried to draw. “Can you.... Make up more stories about yourself?”

Deacon looks at him. Says nothing for a moment. And then... “...Oh, you mean like the time I disguised myself as a mirelurk and a mirelurk queen fell in love with me?”

Rig smiles. “Yeah. Sounds interesting. Why were you disguised like that and how did you get out of it?”

“ _Well_...”

* * *

“So Deacon might join the agency, huh?” Echo asks as she and Nick make their way to Buttonwood. “He could use it, definitely.”

“I definitely thought so,” Nick says. “Though, about _Rig_...”

“He _does_ seem weirdly interested in him,” Echo agrees. “I think he knows more than he’s telling any of us.”

“Damn,” Nick frowns. “I wouldn’t doubt he already knows who Rig actually is and is stringing me along.”

“I mean, it _is_ Deacon.”

“Maybe I should babysit Rig next time. Try and get some answers for myself.”

“Next time,” she agrees. Dogmeat growls, and Echo looks down at him. “What is it, boy?” Dogmeat barks and growls again. Echo frowns and sniffs the air. “Something smell... like smoke to you?”

Nick looks down at her. “I was worried I was...” He looks ahead, resting his hand on his hat to further shield his eyes as he looks into the distance. “ _Damn_. Let’s go.” He takes running, leaving Echo and Dogmeat to chase after him.

They slow as they approach Buttonwood—what’s left of Buttonwood. The fires are put out and charred remains of the wooden structures at the edge of the settlement seem to be the only damage with the rest of the buildings still standing. Someone sees them and walks up to them.

“Detective Valentine, what are you doing here?” they ask.

“What happened here?” Nick asks. He glances to Echo and sees a faint glow behind her sunglasses. She’s probably already getting an idea...

“We were attacked,” the person says.

“Raiders?” Nick asks.

“Thought so at first, but no,” the person answers. “Three men, looking for Lady, one of the ghouls living here. They smoked her out...” The person glances to the still smoking home. “Literally. And she ran to let them chase her instead of have them destroy more of Buttonwood. Doc Ted could tell you more, but he’s tending to some patients injured from the attack, so you’ll have to wait a bit...”

“We’re going to have to,” Nick frowns. “Do you know where Lady ran off to?”

The person shakes their head. “No, sorry.” They point. “That one’s Doc Ted’s place. You can wait in there.”

“Thank you,” Echo says. Her “echo” must have passed. They walk into the office and find seats as they wait. Dogmeat sits next to her and she pets him.

“Well?” Nick whispers.

“You remember that graffiti we saw?” she whispers back. “L’s Angels?”

“At our rest stop last night?” Nick asks.

“Same men,” she says. “Definitely the same men.”

“L’s Angels,” Nick repeats. “I don’t think I’ve heard of them before... What would they want with Lady...?”

“Maybe she’s the L?” Echo asks. “But it doesn’t seem likely...”

“Weird coincidence...” Nick muses. “That they chase her out right when we came here looking for her for Rig’s sake...”

“Hmm...” Echo looks up when a man walks in.

“Oh, hello,” Dr. Ted says, eyeing them cautiously. “What do you need?”

Nick stands, with Echo following. “We were here to talk to Lady about a case,” Nick says. “Something about a Rig Miller murdering her sister before the war?”

Dr. Ted wrinkles his nose in disgust. “You mean that idiot from Vault 113 who claims to be Rig Miller despite clearly not being Rig Miller?”

“Oh?” Nick asks.

“Lady said so, anyway,” Dr. Ted shrugs. “She said she met the real Rig Miller before. Blond. Smart. Perhaps dangerously so. This other man claiming to be Miller pissed her off by insisting he’s Miller even after she said the real Miller was a murderer.”

Nick and Echo share a look.

“What about the recent attack?” Echo asks.

“We have no idea who those men were or what they wanted from her,” Dr. Ted says. “I’d rest easier knowing she’s alright, but I don’t know where she could have gone to or if those men caught up with her...” He frowns. “If you’re looking for her on this case anyway, could you make sure she’s safe or help her if she’s in trouble.”

“Of course,” Echo nods. “We’re happy to help.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Ted nods back. “Now, is there anything else you need? I still have patients to tend to.”

“I think that’s all for now,” Nick says. “Thanks, Doc.”

“If you’re doing this for that fake Miller...” Dr. Ted says. “Then try to get him to admit who he actually is before he gets you and himself into more trouble.”

“That’s the plan,” Nick says, rolling his eyes before taking off out the door.

“So,” Echo says once they’re out of Dr. Ted’s office. “I guess we have to find Lady now, huh?”

“So it seems,” Nick says. He smirks. “You want to lead?”

“Nick...”

“Well, you _do_ seem to find important things completely by accident.”

“Like you?” Echo counters.

Nick’s cheeks tinge slightly blue. “...Let’s see what we can find out here before picking up the other two.”

Echo smirks. “Right.”

* * *

“And so in my new rule as the Mirelurk King, my first decree was to—”

“Just what are you telling him this time?” the familiar voice of Nick Valentine cuts across Deacon’s story.

Deacon grins. “Hey, in my defense, he _asked_ me to make something up this time.”

Rig nods. “It’s really fun. He has so many words. Did you talk to Lady...?”

Echo clears her throat. “ _About_ that... Do either of you know anything about L’s Angels?”

“Other than that graffiti from our rest stop last night?” Deacon asks. “Never heard of them.” He frowns. “I get the feeling we’re...?”

“Going to have to look into them,” Echo nods. “Seems they attacked Buttonwood a little after you two left and chased Lady off. We have to find her now, make sure she’s safe, before we can find out what she knows about her sister’s murder.”

“Do you think she’s alright?” Rig asks.

“Lady’s tough,” Deacon says. “She’s probably fine.” He gets up and stretches. “Alright, where are we headed?” At Nick and Echo’s silence, he groans. “You don’t know where to go next?”

“Rig,” Nick says. “We were hoping you’d have an idea on where we could go to prove... to prove you were framed. Anywhere that might have evidence that we could use...”

Rig frowns and then stands up and puts his journal back in his pocket. “Well... Maybe... Guh, what was the name...?” He closes his eyes tight as he tries to think. “Hhhh.... Oh. Parsons Computers and Tech Services.” He looks around. “That direction, I think?” He tilts his head and motions around. “If Cheer Gardens was that way, then... Parsons should be that way... Out in Sunnville.”

“And why Parsons?” Echo asks, pulling up the map on her Pip-Boy.

“It’s where...” Rig hesitates. “S’where I... used to work...”

Nick looks over Echo’s shoulder at the map. “...You said _that_ direction?” he asks, pointing the way Rig did.

“Yeah?” Rig looks to where Nick’s pointing and hums. “I might be off a bit...”

“You are, but not by much,” Nick says. “Maybe we should have _you_ lead the way there...”

Rig shakes his head. “Never walked there before... I know general directions and old roadways, not walking paths... Especially not now...”

“That’s okay,” Deacon says. “I know how to get there.”

“Then let’s get to Parsons,” Echo says. She frowns at Deacon. “And don’t make us take the _long_ way.”

“The short way is full of super mutants.”

“......No, it’s not.”

“Caught me,” Deacon chuckles. “Alright. Follow me.”


	6. The Only Thing Keeping Him from Eating that Cake was the Flavor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Parsons! What will we find here?

As far as walking for hours on end to get to places he hasn’t been to in some time goes, it’s great to pass the time listening to the others talk and staying silent for the most part to have time to process everything. Rig’s content with listening, staying silent, not saying complete nonsense as it pops into his head. He just follows along with Deacon in the lead—well, Dogmeat, technically—and Echo and Nick behind him, the three of them having some sort of conversation about things he doesn’t understand. Something about raiders or ferals or whatever.

He’s content to listen... But he’s even more content to let his mind wander...

“So, Rig.”

Rig blinks away from the edge Not-Paying-Attention-Land and slows to walk next to Nick while Echo heads up to walk beside Deacon. “Yeah?” Rig asks.

“You mentioned a Ricki at Cheer Gardens?” Nick asks.

“Oh!” Rig smiles. “Yeah. She’s great— She...” He pauses. _“Was_ great? I don’t know.”

“What was she like?” Nick prompts. “You said she was a part of this... Middlesex Railroaders?”

“Yeah...” Rig waves a hand in circles. “She— She was great. A few years older than me. Met her in— in Boston at a hair... thing... Hair... parlor?”

“Salon,” Echo supplies from the front.

“Yes!” Rig snapping a finger and pointing at her. “Salon. Spuh— S’was there when I was, uh...” He squints as he thinks back. “Nnnnnnineteen? Met her and her sister and they introduced me to the Railroaders... It— It was good. Didn’t realize there was that kind of group in the area. Nice people.”

“Train enthusiasts,” Nick reiterates. At Rig’s nod, he asks “...Did they have club meetings?”

“Sometimes,” Rig says. “I don’t know how often. Never joined...” He hums. “Maybe could have but... Busy with... things... Don’t know how much a difference it made...” He pokes his tongue out, eyes going skyward as he thinks on what else to say. “Oh,” he says. “She was a train-spotter.”

“You said that already,” Nick says.

“...Oh.” Rig hums. “She... let me live with her a bit after I dropped out of school since I didn’t... have ‘nywhere else to go. Couldn’t go back to Florida. That would’ve killed me, probably.”

“What?” Echo looks back at him. “Why?”

“...Weather,” Rig says. “Got too used to... weather here? Florida would’ve been... too hot...” He shrugs. “But, uh... she— she was really nice and— and willing to help her friends... I don’t— I don’t know if she was _my_ friend, but she knew me and helped me anyway. But she was my next roommate’s friend and introduced me to him and he let me move in...”

“And that’s where you did cooking and cleaning?” Deacon asks. “Instead of having an actual job? Since you told me you stayed home?” He chuckles. “Funny, that we’re going to your workplace, then, isn’t it? Parsons?”

Rig blinks. “Oh.” He tilts his head. Excuses... What’s a good excuse...? “You know how I... say things without thinking even if it’s not true?”

“Oh, is _that_ all?” Deacon grumbles.

“So which one is the lie?” Nick asks. “Did you work at Parsons or not?”

“I did work for them before,” Rig shrugs. “Wasn’t... on the payroll, is all. Roommate brought me there a couple of times a month and his boss would get me to file things while I was there so I wasn’t underfoot...” He squints. “...Wait, was that legal? Was he using me for office labor so he didn’t have to pay me?”

“You’re just now realizing that?” Nick asks. _“Rig_ , that was _very illegal.”_

“Oh!” Rig looks at the ground. “Dang. I could have actually paid rent.”

“You’re a brilliant man, Miller,” Deacon laughs. “So then, what do you expect us to find there to prove your innocence?”

“I... don’t... know?” Rig grimaces. “I, uh... _hope_ there’s... some info or— or alibi or something... But we... don’t even know whose murder I was... framed for...” He stops, and Nick stops alongside him, with the others stopping to turn and look at him. “This— This is stupid, isn’t it? Going there. We’re not going to— to find anything—” He pauses furrowing his brow and holding his fist to his lips. He looks to the side, mind racing through every stop sign. There’s... _something_ he intended to... go there... for... “Wait, wait, no!” he says, waving in enough excitement that Nick has to step back to avoid being smacked accidentally. “There was— There was a _thing,_ a— a— prize... _thing.”_

Echo perks up. “A raffle,” she says.

“Yes!” he nods. “I— I forgot, there was a— a raffle. Oh, gosh, what was it for...? It— It cost a lot... Prize was really good... We really wanted to... to win...?” He groans and kicks at the dirt. “Ugh, I don’t— _remember,_ what _was_ it?”

Nick reaches out, pausing a moment when Rig looks at him, but then places a hand on Rig’s shoulder. “Well,” he says. “There’s one way to find out. Maybe it’d be worth it to go there after all.”

Rig looks up at him and then smiles. “Yeah— Yeah, okay. Maybe it would be.”

“We’re burning daylight,” Deacon reminds. “You two want to make like the Railroaders and move your caboose?”

Rig giggles. “Yeah, that’s the kind of pun they’d make. The Railroaders aren’t still around, are they?”

“Nope,” Deacon says, starting off again. “Never heard of any sort of group with any name like that or similar to that.”

“...Right,” Echo says. She shakes her head. “Get moving, Rigster.”

Rig nods and follows behind, with Nick taking up the rear. The conversation settles back to the other three talking and Rig merely listening, just as it should be.

Less stressful that way.

There’s a small growl, and Rig looks over to see Dogmeat trotting up to Echo with something in his mouth.

“What’d you find, boy?” Echo kneels down and gets the rolled up magazine out of Dogmeat’s mouth. “Oh, huh... Boston Gardening and Landscaping, huh?”

Rig straightens his back and cranes his neck. “Is it the one with the yellow flowers and the pretty, white gazebo with the string lights?”

“Daffodils?” Echo asks.

“Yes!”

“Mmm, yep, looks like it is.”

“Can— Can I have it?” Rig edges a bit closer. “There’s— There’s a... Uh...”

“More of Apollo Ray’s poems?” Deacon asks.

Rig grimaces. “Yeah...”

Deacon takes the magazine from Echo and flips to the table of contents and then skims through to the correct page. “Alright, let’s see if it’s any good.”

“Do we have to?” Rig winces. “Isn’t this wasting time? We can do this late— Later gator, right...?”

“Who’s Apollo Ray?” Nick asks.

“Some terrible pre-war poet,” Rig says. “That’s all.”

“Then why are you collecting his work?” Nick asks.

“Because I _like it.”_

“Riiight...” Nick looks to Deacon. “Well? If we’re stopping for this, I expect a performance. You wanted to start a theatre troupe, after all.”

Deacon clears his throat perhaps louder and longer than he needs to. “In the Garden by Apollo Ray,” he recites.

Rig turns on his heel and walks away.

“Come on!” Deacon laughs. “You didn’t even hear my performance yet!”

Rig stops just out of hearing distance and turns to watch them. He makes a vague motion for them to continue.

“Fine, suit yourself,” Deacon shrugs. He clears his throat again and recites the poem...

_Let’s sit in the garden_ _  
_ _This quiet spring day_ _  
_ _Let’s enjoy the sun_ _  
_ _In this lovely May_

Over in his spot, standing watching for the poem to finish, Rig spots Dogmeat wandering up to him. He kneels down and pets the good boy who licks his face. He smiles. “I’m okay,” he whispers. “I just can’t listen to it...”

_Azalea and tulips_ _  
_ _In a rosy hue_ _  
_ _Rhododendron and lilacs_ _  
_ _In sweet morning dew_

Echo and Nick watch Rig play with Dogmeat, the two of them ending up in the dirt with Dogmeat lying on his back and Rig lying next to him to rub his belly. Nick leans to Echo and whispers “why didn’t he want to hear this poem?” to which Echo shrugs.

_Let’s sit in the garden_ _  
_ _With flowers in bloom_ _  
_ _Under the cherry tree_ _  
_ _Amongst the beauty and perfume_

Deacon slams the magazine shut. “And that was ‘In the Garden’ by Apollo Ray, thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week.”

“Well, that was flowery,” Nick comments, smiling when Echo snorts in amusement. “Don’t know what I expected from a gardening magazine.”

Rig walks back up with Dogmeat beside him, casually wiping dirt off his arm and side of his body. “Hey, so, how was it? If I remember right, this one was really...” He wrinkles his nose. “Uh... par— parfait— Uh... It didn’t say anything.”

“It was cute,” Echo says. “It’s...” She looks at the magazine and picks her words carefully. “The... kind of thing you’d see in pre-war magazines.”

Rig nods. “Saccharine and sunny because it’s mass produced sell-out poetry meant to make mediocre amounts of income from feel-good magazines who don’t want to promote rebellion or political agendas unless it’s the _right_ political agendas.”

The other three stare at him. Rig blinks and gapes like a fish as he tries to figure out what he’s supposed to correct about that statement.

“It’s bad,” he says. “It’s— It’s nothing. It’s bottles of.... Of Nuka-Cola brand syrup goop.”

Deacon hands Rig the magazine. “You’re the one who likes Ray, Rig.”

“Yeah,” Rig says. He tucks the magazine under his arm. “I prefer Poe, though. Are we going to... Pars— Pore— Porsens? Now?”

“Yep.” Deacon says. “Gotta love all these little rest stops, but if you want that mystery solved, we gotta keep moving.” He takes off with Dogmeat barking at his heels

“Okay,” Rig nods. He glances at Nick and Echo who are still staring at him. “Did— Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Echo says. “We just weren’t expecting that.”

Rig grimaces. “Fleeting moments of clarible— clarity?”

“Mm-hmm,” Nick hums, eyeing him carefully. He ushers him forward after Deacon. “Don’t fall behind, now.”

“Right, right, right...” Rig murmurs. He stumbles after Deacon and Echo takes her previous place walking beside Nick.

“Were you expecting that from him?” Nick whispers.

“Ny-ope,” she answers.

“Think he’s faking being an idiot?”

“He can’t even fake being Rig Miller.”

“Good point.” Nick hums. “Just as long as he doesn’t turn out to be dangerous. He better not be stringing us along.”

“I’d be able to tell if he was lying,” Echo reminds. “Trust me, Nick... He’s both as dumb as he acts and smarter than he shows... We’ll just have to be careful that it doesn’t end up meaning he’s dangerous after all... But I don’t think he’s purposely stringing us along.” She narrows her eyes when he glances back at them but... no, they should be too quiet for him to hear... He’s probably just making sure they’re still following. “But we’ll see...”

* * *

All that remains of the Sunnville city limits sign is the “Sunnv” which Rig makes a point to read exactly as written right as Deacon says “welcome to” leading to a perfectly discordant greeting from the two of them. Deacon grins at him and Rig looks pleased with himself, while Nick rolls his eyes.

“Alright then, now where?” Nick asks. “Do you remember how to get to Parsons from here, Rig?”

Rig looks past the sign at the collapsing buildings interspersed with not-collapsed-yet ones. An utter ghost town made of concrete and brick and overgrown with plants. But he can still see old, faded street signs in the distance, and familiar landmarks.

“Yeah,” Rig says. “Straight down, left at the Marshel’s thing, third building on the right.”

“The Marshel’s what?” Echo asks.

“Thing,” Rig says. “The— Statue. Thing. Over there.” He points up ahead. “The creepy, big thing, on a horse.” He shrugs and starts off. “It’s this way,” he says, letting them follow him this time.

“Watch for mines!” Deacon calls.

Rig stops and turns around. “What?” He looks around at the ground. “...What?”

“You’re fine,” Nick calls. “Keep going.”

Rig wrinkles his nose but pays a _bit_ more attention where he’s stepping as he leads them down to Marshel’s statute, tarnished, ugly, and just as poorly designed as it was in life— before the war, he corrects himself, and then around the corner towards Parsons. Dogmeat runs up and nudges into his side as they approach the building, and then steps in front of him. He stops and looks down, and Dogmeat plants himself at Rig’s feet and ruffs expectantly.

“Good call, Dogmeat,” Echo says. She walks up and looks ahead. “That building?” she asks.

Rig nods. “Yeah, the one with the plastic skeleton on a computer in the window.” He squints. “And... the real skeleton. Just... there.”

“Mm-hmm.” She pulls out a gun, and Rig jumps. “You wait out here with Dogmeat.”

“Wha?” Rig watches her signal at the other two Deacon and Nick seem to be in a game of rock-paper-scissors, which Nick wins much to Deacon’s mumbled swear. “What?”

“I’m babysitting you this time,” Nick says. “These two are going to make sure it’s safe.”

“...From what?” Rig glances ahead at the building and then back at Nick. “O— Okay?”

Deacon grins as he follows Echo to Parsons. “Don’t do anything _I_ wouldn’t do,” he calls over his shoulders.

Rig blinks, but Dogmeat nudges his legs, coaxing him back the way they came. Rig does as the good boy wants and goes to stand a little further down the road with Nick who pulls out a cigarette to smoke. They stand there in the quiet of the dead, empty city streets with the only sounds being environmental noises and mechanical whirring.

“So...” Rig starts. “You smoke.”

“The original Nick smoked,” Nick says. “Couldn’t quite shake the habit myself.”

“Yeah, because it’s, like, mental, right?” Rig says, pointing at his head. “Addictions? Partly mental.” He eyes the cigarette and hums. “Y’know, my dad smoked.”

“That so?” Nick asks.

“Yeah, he...” Rig frowns. “He drunk a lot too. Swore I never would. Do— Do either of those things. Worried if addictions are genetically predisposed.”

“Hmm.” Nick eyes Rig carefully. “Where’d you live before...” He motions around. “All _this_ happened? Before the bombs fell. You live here in Sunnville?”

“No, we commuted here,” Rig says. “We lived in the... The... Bird Meadows community outside of the Pleasantview city limits? It’s... north of Cheer Gardens, I think?”

“Hmm,” Nick looks presumably northward. “Were you at home when the war started?”

Rig hums. “Probably? I don’t know where else I would have been, but...” He winces and holds his head. “I don’t... I remember putting up Halloween decorations. I re— remermber Septermber was... weird for some reason. August... I think that’s when the raffle was.”

Nick looks up at the sound of gunfire, muffled by concrete walls. “Well, hopefully we’ll be finding out what that raffle was soon...”

Rig winces at the same sound. “Uh...”

Dogmeat barks and runs circles around them. Rig watches him and then crouches down. Dogmeat tackles into him, licking his face and making him laugh.

“You’re so _cute,”_ Rig grins as he pets Dogmeat. “What a smart dog. I just met you and I already love you.”

“You’re a precious man, Miller,” Nick chuckles.

“I’ve got another question?” Rig lowers himself to sit on the ground and then looks up at Nick. “So I know there’s an original Nick and then you’re the actual Nick, but I don’t get... Well... Mlub. How do I....?”

Nick glances down at him. “How... that happened?”

“No,” Rig says. “I don’t really care about that. You’re you, so how you’re you doesn’t matter.” He furrows his brow. “Am... I being... weird?”

“More specifically?”

“My... reaction to... things.” Rig glances at the dirt on the ground and draws in it. “Just. Everyone I know is gone but I don’t feel... To— Torn up about it. Everything is... coasting. I’m coasting and— and ghosting. How— How did _you_ react to... waking up to a— a new, world, broken and healing, with everything you remember having gone?”

“It...” Nick lowers his head. “It’s a different situation for me. You woke up in a Vault you don’t remember, and I woke up in a trash heap.”

Rig wrinkles his nose. “Why would someone throw you out? You’re people. You don’t throw out people.”

Nick cracks a small smile. “Either way. Everyone responds to things differently. I don’t know you well enough to know if this is a natural response for you. Maybe it’s a little concerning that you aren’t having a strong reaction, but maybe that’s just how you’re coping so you don’t fall apart.” He moves his cigarette to his left hand and flexes the metal skeleton of the right one. “I’m doing that enough for the both of us.”

Rig smiles. “...Better than if I were... happy about what happened, right? Better neutral than... enjoying that my friends are all gone.”

Nick frowns. “What about your family...?”

“What family?” Rig asks, his smile fading.

“You said you have a dad, at least,” Nick says.

Rig looks to Dogmeat who whines and pokes his head under Rig’s chin. Rig stands up and swipes his foot to erase the attempt at drawing Nick’s skeletal hand in the dirt.

“My family never...” Rig shrugs. “Cared... about me... I moved here when I was nineteen and... never gave them a chance to find me again. I was already happy they weren’t in my life anymore. I didn’t need a war and 200 plus years to...” He waves his hands. _“This._ To— To make it that there’s no possible way they’ll find me now.”

“Huh...” Nick drops his cigarette to the ground and steps on it to put it out. “Sorry to hear that.”

Rig shrugs, a sad look crossing his face as he looks around. “You know how people were back then... They— They cared more about money or appearances than their own kids, sometimes.”

“There are still people like that,” Nick says. “But there’s still a lot of good in the world too.”

Rig looks around. Perhaps the streets are void of people, but it’s not void of life. There’s plants, there’s people, and perhaps animals hidden around somewhere. This _world_ isn’t void of life. Mutated, changed, but still life... _“All this decay, but there’s still something pretty,”_ he says, to no one in particular. _“Things haven’t ended, there’s still life in these cities. People, perhaps flawed in their own little ways. Kind or not, just trying to live day to day.”_

“A Rig Miller original?” Nick asks.

“Mm-hmm,” Rig nods.

“You’re right,” Nick chuckles. “It _is_ better than that Apollo Ray poem.”

“Mm-hmm...” Rig pulls out his journal. “Gonna... workshop it later, though...”

* * *

“Think we got ‘em all?”

Echo looks across the Parsons’ interior and the number of bodies collapsed in various heaps on the floor. “I counted six of them.”

“Well, look what we’ve got,” Deacon says. “Six dead raiders. I guess we cleared this place out.”

“You get the others,” Echo says. “I’m going to get started on hacking these terminals.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Deacon gives a small salute and exits, leaving Echo to wander up to the closest terminal.

The building has a couple of offices and a number of work areas for technology repair, both software and hardware. They walked in, greeted with a lobby and old, dusty halloween decorations and that skeleton Rig had pointed out, and they continued through right into a raider hideout. Good thing they didn’t bring Rig in with them...

At least now it should be safe. Broken technology and dead bodies shouldn’t do them any harm.

She turns on the terminal in front of her, and her eyes flash white for a second as she sees an “echo” of the password being typed in. The vision fades, and she inputs the password and brings up the text...

> _Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink_
> 
> _Parsons Computers and Tech Services_
> 
> **Simmons Case 4: Mr. Handy**
> 
> **Simmons Case 7: Mr. Handy**
> 
> **Simmons Case 8: Mr. Handy AGAIN**

Hmm, interesting... She selects the Case 4 and starts there.

> **Simmons Case 4: Mr. Handy**
> 
> Client: Miss Simmons
> 
> Issue: Malfunctioning Mr. Handy
> 
> Diagnostic: Missing failsafes.
> 
> Solution: Reinstall failsafes.
> 
> Repair commentary: A standard case of a Mr. Handy losing one of its limiter failsafes. Easily repaired.

Not much use from this one... Time for Case 7.

> **Simmons Case 7: Mr. Handy**
> 
> Client: Miss Simmons
> 
> Issue: Malfunctioning Mr. Handy
> 
> Diagnostic: Missing failsafes.
> 
> Solution: Reinstall failsafes.
> 
> Repair commentary: Miss Simmons brought in her Mr. Handy a second time, missing the same failsafes. I don’t know how that happened a second time but any Mr. Handy with a buzzsaw and the intelligence to use it as a threat is not a friend. I should ask for better health benefits if I have to deal with this again.

Hmmmmmm.... One last case...

> **Simmons Case 8: Mr. Handy AGAIN**
> 
> Client: Miss Simmons
> 
> Issue: Malfunctioning Mr. Handy
> 
> Diagnostic: Missing failsafes.
> 
> Solution: Reinstall failsafes.
> 
> Repair commentary: I don’t know how Miss Simmons keeps logic trapping her Mr. Handy into breaking through its failsafes, but it’s never fun to have to hack in and turn them back on. These things keep speaking to me like they’re people and threatening me and I swear, I’m going to quit and live as far away from technology as possible. It’s unnerving. Speaking of, the “unpaid intern” seemed pretty interested in knowing about those failsafes and what they’re for. Seemed pretty perturbed by the whole thing. I don’t blame him. Knowing that a mere two failsafes are what keeps these robots from gaining a full artificial intelligence? Scary stuff.

Okay, that’s not helpful. She moves on to the next terminal.

“Handsome’s back!” Deacon calls as he walks back in. “And I found a couple of loiterers outside.”

Dogmeat barks and walks up to one of the dead raiders and sniffs at it. Rig watches and pulls a disgusted face but says nothing. He instead walks over to the side office and peers through the glass window at what’s inside.

Nick looks around at the carnage. “Huh. Not as bad as you made it seem. But, then again, knowing you.”

“So we’re just hacking terminals and reading files, right?” Deacon chuckles. “Just the standard?”

“Yep!” Echo says. “Get to it.”

Rig glances back to watch Nick go up to a computer and he then goes back to peeking at what’s in the office. He looks to the side when Deacon walks up beside him. “Skeleton birthday,” he says, pointing through the glass.

Deacon peers in at the “HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOLAND” banner falling off the wall and the number of skeletons in party hats lying about inside. He grins. “It’s a lively event for sure.”

“There’s cake,” Rig points out.

“So there is,” Deacon agrees. “212 year old cake, glowing and rock hard...” He nudges Rig. “I’ll pay you 20 caps to take a bite.”

“No,” Echo says, and they look over to see her staring at them, possibly glaring. Sunglasses and all. _“No._ Don’t you dare.”

“Terminal in there,” Rig points out.

“Then go in there and hack it,” Nick says. “But _don’t_ eat that cake.”

“Party poopers,” Deacon laughs. He grabs the door handle and pushes on it, leaning into it until it slides open. He walks in with Rig following, and he leans over to Rig to whisper. “That said, they’re busy, so they wouldn’t see if you wanted to take a bite.”

Rig looks over at the cake. “No, Noland liked chocolate cake. Chocolate cake is disgusting. I prefer vanilla.”

“Oh, a picky eater, huh?”

“Ehn, when I can help it.” Rig walks up to the terminal and activates it.

Deacon lifts his brow. “You sure you got that one, Rig?”

Rig stares at the screen and then types something in. The password accepts.

“Oh,” Deacon hums. “Huh... You _did_ work here, right?”

“I mean, not on the HR terminal,” Rig shrugs. “Don’t know when they moved it in here... This is supposed to be in the other office.” He hums. “Anyway...”

> _Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink_
> 
> _Parsons Computers and Tech Services - HR_
> 
> **HR Complaint: Rig Miller**
> 
> **Re: HR Complaint: Rig Miller**
> 
> **Re: Re: HR Complaint: Rig Miller**

“You do something to piss off your coworkers?” Deacon asks.

“Uhhh...” Rig glances at Deacon and then selects the first entry.

> **HR Complain: Rig Miller**
> 
> The person(s) involved in this complaint are: Rig Miller
> 
> Note all relevant dates, places, events, etc. pertaining to this complaint: Rig should not have been able to win the August raffle TWICE when he only bought TWO tickets compared to the dozens of tickets everyone else bought. He has to have cheated somehow and I DEMAND an investigation.

“Oh, so you cheated,” Deacon surmises. “Good to know.”

“I... didn’t cheat,” Rig says. He selects the next entry.

> **Re: HR Complaint: Rig Miller**
> 
> Complaints about the result of the Vault-Tec raffle from this past August must be taken up with Vault-Tec as they are the ones to run the raffle. Parsons is not able to conduct an investigation on the allegations of cheating against Rig Miller at this time. Thank you for your understanding.

“...Vault-Tec, huh?” Deacon asks. “So... That must be how you got into 113...”

“But how did I get _out?”_ Rig asks

“My guess? You walked.”

“Ah, yes, the most efficient way to drive— travel.” Rig clears his throat. He selects the last entry for good measure.

> **Re: Re: HR Complaint: Rig Miller**
> 
> Note: Personnel should refrain from saying Mr. Miller “rigged” the raffle to avoid showing prejudice against his name and to avoid being banned from this month’s company picnic for the obvious and annoying pun.

The two of them stare at that entry, and then they both grin.

“Rigged it, that’s good,” Rig laughs. “I like that.”

“So you _rigged_ the raffle to get into Vault 113,” Deacon grins. “So you _did_ commit a crime.”

“But not a murder,” Rig says. “I mean.” He clears his throat again. “I didn’t rig it. Maybe my luck is just that good?”

“Rig!” Echo calls, and they look to see her waving them over. “We found something!”

Rig frowns and hurries over. He walks to the opposite side of the desk as Echo and Nick, and Nick sets down an old newspaper, faded and with water damage blurring some of the text, and turns it around for Rig to read.

> **SUNNVILLE SUNNY, SEPT——ER —, 2077**
> 
> **PARSONS EMPLOYEE RIG MILLER ACCUSED OF MURDER**
> 
> Rig Miller, 37, who works at local business Pa——ns Computers and Tech Services, is the main suspect in the murder of R—— ———, 40, who was found with multiple stab wounds in B——— this past weekend. Miller e——ed police custody and his whereabouts are currently unknown. Those with information regarding this case are asked to call B——— PD at ————--

Rig digs his hands into his hair and breathes in sharply. “Name’s blurred out. _Stab—_ Stab wounds? That’s— Noooo.” He drops his hands to his sides and groans. “Nooooo.”

“Hey, it’s not the end of the world,” Deacon assures.

“No, that happened a month later,” Nick agrees.

“Ehhhhhhnnnnn,” Rig whines.

Echo frowns. “Did you two find out anything about that raffle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Deacon says. He points his thumb at Rig. “He may not be a murderer, but he cheated to win the raffle. Rigged it and everything. Looks like it might have been to get spots in Vault 113.”

“Right...” Echo frowns. “That explains _that,_ but...” She looks at Rig. “But... If you were accused of murder right before you got in, then why would they still let you in...?”

Rig shakes his head. “I don’t even remember when I... you know. I don’t remember my time there at all.”

Nick looks down at the paper and then up at Rig. “Whatever experiment they did on you to keep you alive for so long must have messed with your memory, then. If you don’t remember any of this.”

Rig blinks. “...Experiment?”

“The Vault-Tec experiments,” Nick says. He shares a look with Echo. “Did... no one tell you what Vault-Tec used their vaults for?”

“I mean...” Rig racks his brain. Something... Something that person from the caravan said... But that was, what three nights ago? He doesn’t even remember half the things they said on the way here... “Muh... Maybe, but I... didn’t clompre— comprehend drit... It.”

“...Very few of the vaults were actually to keep people alive,” Nick explains. “Most of them were for experimenting on the vault dwellers. We already know Vault 111 was an experiment using cryo-pods, so whatever they did in 113 would have to be different...”

“Maybe time travel,” Deacon suggests. “Sending people to the future, hopefully after the world has rebuilt.” He hums. “Maybe Rig is the first one back and there will be more showing up soon.”

“Iiii don’t think time works like that,” Rig says. “S’just...” He furrows his brow. “I was... experimented on...? Is z’hat why I’m being so... weird...? So...” He waves his hands in frustration. _“Stupid?_ I mean, I...” He sighs. “I don’t speak smart... words... anyway, but... this feels.... Words— worse than... I remember being... It just...” He leans on the desk and holds his stomach. “No, no, no, don’t like that... ‘Perimented... _No,_ that’s... that’s bad...”

“You need to get out of here, Rig?” Echo asks. “We should probably find somewhere to rest and figure out what to do from here anyway.”

Rig nods. “Yeah...” He looks down at the paper again. No photos... “Yeah...”

* * *

It’s quiet, and no one is talking. There’s still sunlight in the windows—it’s not quite evening yet , and Echo is at the make-shift stove cooking a late lunch or perhaps early dinner. Deacon and Nick play cards with a deck they found in the abandoned home they’re resting in. Dogmeat plays with a teddy bear that he found. Rig... Rig’s sitting in the corner doing one of the only things he’s good at...

He writes.

_I’ve taken your name and found out your fame_ _  
_ _Infamy, rather, a much different game_ _  
_ _They say you have done something_ _  
_ _That made you have to flee_ _  
_ _But that’s not the man I knew you to be_

_But what if I’m wrong about what I knew?_ _  
_ _Two hundred years later, did I really know you?_

_You were a man of great skill_ _  
_ _Who many adored_ _  
_ _So why would you kill?_ _  
_ _Was it defense or were you bored?_ _  
_ _I want to think that you couldn’t_ _  
_ _But you were a man of great wit_ _  
_ _So I can’t help but wonder_ _  
_ _Did you really do it?_

Nick puts down his cards. “Four of a kind.”

“Go fish,” Deacon responds.

Rig laughs despite himself. “Does— Does that deck have enough cards for fish poker?”

“Nope,” Deacon says. He sets down his hand and Nick glances at the straight flush and curses. “But if we find a few more decks we could put together a deck for Caravan.”

“You’d have to find someone else who’s been to the Mojave to play against,” Nick counters. “Not that Caravan rules make any sense.”

“Royal Maker,” Rig says. “That’s a fun one.”

“What’s Royal Maker?” Echo asks.

“S’that thing where you...” Rig sets down his journal and waves at the deck. “You know. Make up rules as you play. But you can’t contriduce— Contradict another player’s rules. Because— Royals. _Rulers._ Rule maker.”

“Sounds up my alley,” Deacon grins. “You want to play a game of that?”

“Ehn.” Rig shrugs. “I’m... not good at it. ‘M not...” He frowns. “Up for... Things right now, anyway.”

“Hmm.” Nick raps his fingers on the table. “How... would you feel about tracking down Vault 113 to find out what they did there?”

“No,” Rig says.

“Okay then.” Nick crosses his arms. “What about going to your old place in Bird Meadows?”

“Do you know where Bird Meadows is?”

Nick looks at Deacon who shakes his head. He looks at Echo who plates their lunch-dinner.

“Nope,” Echo says.

Rig shrugs. “Then... Not until we figure it out, because I only know the vague direction, not how to get there.” He looks when Echo walks up to him with a plate of food. She hands it to him, and he reaches up for it, accidentally brushing against her hands as he takes the food. “Oop— Thanks.” He nestles against the wall to pick at the.... Whatever this is...

“Uh...” Echo stands there a moment and then walks over to the table where her plate is waiting at her seat next to Nick. “So what _do_ we do, then? There has to be someplace we can go for information. If we don’t know where Lady is or who her sister is or anywhere that might have information on Rig or why he was framed...”

Deacon pokes at his food. “We could always find the nearest settlement or something. Ask around if anyone’s seen Lady.”

“Probably our best bet,” Nick agrees. “We can spend the rest of the day and night here and head out tomorrow. Sound good, Rig?”

“Okay,” Rig says. “I trust all of you.”

Echo and Nick glance at Deacon who avoids their stares. Dogmeat drops his teddy bear and edges up to Echo to place his head in her lap and stare up at her for food.

Echo pats his head. “Go beg Deacon for food instead.”

“What?” Deacon holds his plate up when Dogmeat barks and halfway jumps onto his lap. _“Echo!”_

Rig watches the antics and smiles. He’ll stay out of it for now. Just watch, be entertained, not think about anything.

Less stressful that way.

* * *

Echo brings Rig his portion of the omelette and doesn’t have to say a word this time for him to take it. But before she _could_ say anything if she had planned to, his hands accidentally brush against hers...

_She stares at a blond man, one Rig Miller, who looks at him expectantly._

_“Well?” Rig asks. “You want a Mr. Handy or not? They’re not_ **_that_ ** _expensive, you know.”_

_“No,” he says. “They make me nervous.”_

_“We can order one_ **_without_ ** _a buzzsaw—”_

_“They MAKE. Me NERVOUS.”_

_“...” Rig sighs. “Fine. I guess it saves money not to get one...”_

The hand contact passes, as does the memory. Rig said something, but she didn’t quite hear what he said...

“Uh...” she says instead. Whelp. Hope he wasn’t expecting a response. She turns and goes to the table. She’ll have to be more careful not to get accidental echoes from him a second time...


	7. The Virtues of being Transparent with People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone decides to share some secrets. And then keeps sharing. That's too many secrets, take some back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter contains  
> -invasion of privacy  
> -prejudice against synths  
> -mentions of unethical medical procedures  
> -mentions of pre-war transphobia  
> -and potentially other triggering content
> 
> Please take necessary caution

The prize for longest sleep does _not_ go to Deacon or Echo with the scant few hours they get. They end up with Nick, speaking softly in the early morning to keep from waking Rig, curled up around the dog drool-covered teddy bear Dogmeat had finished playing with last night. Dogmeat rolls onto his back next to Echo for belly rubs as the three of them have their private chat.

“Do you think he realizes how much he contradicts himself?” Nick asks.

“What?” Deacon asks. “Mr. ‘Says things without remembering they’re lies’? Contradicting himself?” He scoffs. “He’s worse than I am.”

Echo smirks. “Jealous that you have to actually _try_ to say half the lies and nonsense he does?”

“...No.”

“The whole ‘Apollo Ray’ thing,” Nick says. “He seems to have a strong, negative opinion of those poems when he claims to like the writer...” He frowns. “And what kind of pen name is _Apollo Ray?_ Someone here went heavy-handed with the references. Greek god of poetry _and_ the sun...”

“Sun rays,” Echo hums. “So you think Rig is the pre-war poet Apollo Ray?”

“Most likely,” Nick says. “But that doesn’t tell us what his actual name is if Ray is his pen name.”

“What makes you think Ray is a pen name?” Deacon asks.

“It’s too _perfect_ a name for a poet writing ‘sunny’ poems,” Nick says. “It’s one that someone would have had to pick out, not one given to him.”

“If only there were a way to ask him?” Deacon hums. “Not like we could just go up to him and ask ‘so are you Apollo Ray’, right?” He chuckles and then pauses and furrows his brow. “Wait, can we? Do you think he’d admit to it if we asked?”

“Depends on how dedicated to pretending to be Rig Miller he is,” Echo says. “Unless he isn’t Apollo Ray but someone who just happens to know Ray...” She hums. “Maybe the original Rig Miller was using the pen name Apollo Ray?”

“Oh, huh...” Nick looks over at the current Rig. “Didn’t think of that... That said, we’re still sure he’s not a synth?”

“He’s not a synth,” Echo says.

“Or _is_ he?” Deacon asks. “Maybe the Institute made him and got some wires crossed and so left him in a vault where he wouldn’t be a problem. Unless he still is working for any Institute stragglers that might be out there trying to get back at the ‘Lost Guardian’ for taking them down.”

Echo frowns at him. “So you brought him right to the Agency? Who are you and what have you done with Deacon?”

“Call me _Tim.”_

“Deacon,” Nick frowns. “If you actually thought that was the case, you wouldn’t compromise any of us like that. You actually _do_ know who this is, don’t you?”

Deacon frowns. “How exactly do you want me to answer that?”

“The Institute is _gone,_ Deacon. You don’t need to keep lying about everything.” Nick fishes out a cigarette and a lighter. “You could try telling us the truth for once. It... _probably_ won’t kill you.”

“I have an allergy to telling the truth,” Deacon says. “I get hives and my throat closes up. It’d kill me instantly.”

Echo snorts. “And if that were the truth you’d be having an allergic reaction right now.”

Deacon’s hands go to his throat and he chokes as he falls onto his side.

“Well, it was nice knowing him,” Nick says.

Echo sighs and stands up. “I’ll go find a shovel.”

Deacon clears his throat and sits up. “Oh, look, I’m miraculously cured.” He pauses when Dogmeat boofs and crawls over to lie in his lap. “Aw, bud, you worried about me?”

“He thinks you’re a dork,” Echo says.

“Aww, love you too, Dogmeat.” Deacon pets Dogmeat and frowns at the other two. “Okay, so I know a _few_ things, but I still need to confirm some of them. But, since we’re all friends here, I’ll tell you... The Railroad has intel that there might be some of those _Institute stragglers_ I mentioned still around and trying to rebuild.”

Echo tenses and takes in a sharp breath. “...No kidding, huh?”

“So, you know,” Deacon shrugs. “If you want a reason to be cautious in case Rig Van Winkle over there turns out to be an Institute spy after all.”

“But you don’t think he is one,” Nick clarifies. “I know ‘keep you friends close and enemies closer’ but you’d think you’d be more cautious if you actually suspected he’s an Institute spy.”

Deacon holds his shrugging pose. “Guess we’re going to have to find out.” 

* * *

In the light of morning, Rig wakes up to Dogmeat stealing back the teddy bear he let Rig borrow. Rig sits up and sees only Nick waiting around.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Nick says. “I’m going to step outside to smoke. Echo and Deacon went to hunt for something for breakfast.”

“Alright,” Rig says. “I’ll wait here?”

“Sounds good,” Nick says. He steps out, leaving Rig in the safety of Dogmeat’s paws and teeth.

Rig watches Dogmeat tear apart poor Mr. Fluffles as his head slowly reboots to the new day and trying to remember the poem he wanted to write the night before. He’s been talking about the Railroaders a lot for the first time in years... He frowns. Of course, he’s been asleep for 212 years... He won’t count those years. As far as he’s concerned, he’s still 35. He pauses and counts on his fingers. Right, 35.

He’s distracted. What was that line he wanted to build a poem around...?

...Oh, right. “Follow the tracks to freedom”...

He glances out the broken window. No one’s in sight... He shifts into a sunny spot, takes out his journal and pen again, and gets to work.

_If the world burned differently_ _  
_ _200 years ago,_ _  
_ _Not from the heat of hellfire_ _  
_ _Or the crimes that humans show_ _  
_ _Of caring more for petty things,_ _  
_ _Like money or like pride,_ _  
_ _Would we be at a kind of peace_ _  
_ _Where we wouldn’t have to hide?_

_“Follow the tracks to freedom”_ _  
_ _The offer they had made._ _  
_ _I only wished to blend in_ _  
_ _In the body that they gave._ _  
_ _And somehow it has lasted_ _  
_ _For longer than I planned._ _  
_ _If I could live through fear and hate,_ _  
_ _Then how much more is there to stand?_

_The man I am came from a lab_ _  
_ _And no one knows this still._ _  
_ _Nothing here can change that now._ _  
_ _Yet I still fear of what could kill_ _  
_ _Me for a secret that this poem_ _  
_ _Is the first to see written down._ _  
_ _Of course the thought of experiments_ _  
_ _Is what brought this thought around._

_Perhaps I still fear something_ _  
_ _That I want to believe was right:_ _  
_ _That those clean white walls and flawless dolls_ _  
_ _Were on our side of the fight._ _  
_ _Perhaps it doesn’t matter_ _  
_ _In the peace of the morning light._ _  
_ _The railroad crossing was my crossroads_ _  
_ _To the day after the twelfth night._

Rig stares at the last line of the poem, tapping his pen against his lips as he thinks over whether or not that fits... Now that he thinks about it, is that the correct play to reference? This is what he gets for not being an English major. A lack of knowledge of the Bard. He’s like... the False Bard. He’s no Shakespeare, just a hack pretending to be someone he isn’t instead of the person he wanted to be.

“What’cha writing, Rigsby?”

Rig jumps from the voice behind him and looks at Deacon glancing over his shoulder. “Oh...” He looks around. Echo’s back and cooking something. Nick is sitting nearby on a crate. They must have come back in while he was writing... Speaking of. Rig finally shuts his journal. “Poms,” he answers. “Writing poms.”

Deacon chuckles. “You want Fancy Lads for breakfast again?”

“Not really,” Rig says. “Not if you’re just going to do the ‘has my name on them’ joke again...”

“Aw, then what am I supposed to do with this?” Deacon goes over to his bag and riffles through it. He pulls out a pack of snack cakes and tosses them at Rig who promptly flinches when they smack him in the head.

“Ow,” Rig says, and he picks up the box and looks at it...

At the “RAY” written on the box instead of “RIG”.

He stares at the box and then up at Deacon and then back at the box and again up at Deacon. He finally points at the box. “You wrote Ray on this one.” He opens the package to snack on the cakes.

“So are you saying that’s not your name?” Deacon asks.

Rig pauses mid-bite. He shoves the entire cake in his mouth.

Nick sits up straighter. “So you _are_ the poet Apollo Ray. That’s an interesting pen name.”

Rig tries not to choke on his Fancy Lads. Chew, chew, chew, swallow. He manages not to die on snack cakes a second morning in a row and sticks his tongue out in annoyance. He takes in a breath. “I don’t want to eat those anymore.”

“Try eating them like a normal person,” Echo says as she sets up the hot plate to cook. “So. Pen name? You’re Apollo Ray...?”

Rig wrinkles his nose. “I mean... Yeah, I’m Apollo Ray... But— But, uh...”

“We’ll keep calling you Rig,” Nick says. “Your current poetry is better than your pre-war stuff, then.”

“...Yeah,” Rig says. “I can... be more... unhindered now. Ill— Illrestrained.”

“Unrestrained,” Nick corrects.

“Yes,” Rig agrees. “I can...” He looks at Dogmeat panting expectantly next to him and hands Dogmeat the teddy bear and watches Dogmeat carry it off to tear it apart. He smiles. “I can write what I want and how I’m feeling, not what... what I need to write for magazines to want to accept my poems...” He frowns. “They didn’t pay a lot... If it weren’t for my roommate, I wouldn’t have been able to get by...”

“Yeah?” Deacon asks, pulling out a box of Fancy Lads with “JIM” written on them for himself. “What’s his name?”

Rig shuts his mouth tight and looks around. “Mmmm, good... question?” he offers. He taps his fingers on his knees and then looks at the three of them. “Um... So— So you know how I’m pretending to be Rig Miller?”

Deacon chokes on his Fancy Lads. “You— Ugh— You’re _admitting it?”_

“You already...?” Rig winces. “Oh, wait, I was in the other room when you were... talking about............ Hmm.” He stares at the ground and then looks up to see the other three staring at him. “Oh, well, uh... He was my roommate. My best friend. He— He was a good... person. That’s the only reason I wanted to...” He sighs. “But— But it’s stupid, isn’t it? Even if we find Lady, it’s not going to change that Rig is gone and Lady’s sister is dead, regardless of if Rig killed her. B-But... Seeing that paper yesterday and just... knowing that it’s what people _thought_ happened... That I never heard about somehow. Just how much was he... keeping from me?” He frowns. “And... And then you said something about... something happened to me in that vault and... I want to know what. I still want to know what... happened to Rig, though. If he did kill someone or not. I, just...” He wrings his hands together. “I don’t... know what I’m saying. Should I leave? Is this bad?”

Echo glances at Nick and Deacon. “So...” she starts. “What do we call you?”

He furrows his brow. “I... kinda... like being called Rig. He had a fun name. I could never be him, but... If he _did..._ I mean...”

“Don’t worry about that,” Echo says. “We’re still going to find Lady, and we’re still going to prove the original Rig didn’t kill anyone. And we’re also going to find out what happened to you and help you make a new life for yourself.”

Rig smiles. “I... That’s... “ He blinks back tears. “...Thank you. The Railroaders would have loved you.”

“The train enthusiasts,” Nick clarifies yet again.

“...Yes.”

Deacon clears his throat. “So... Nick, which of us won that bet?”

Nick points at Echo. “She bet he’d admit the truth first.”

“ _Dammit.”_ Deacon pauses. “Well, we didn’t find out his _real_ name yet, so—”

“But...” Rig sighs and shakes his head. “Um... This is okay...? I thought about it for a while last night... I don’t... I only said my name is Rig by accident. I felt bad not... telling the truth, but... There’s so much I haven’t told you and still feel like I shouldn’t..”

“I’ve got a question about you,” Nick says. “You’re sounding a lot more _lucid_ than you have the past few days. Why is that...?”

Rig blinks. “Huh... Didn’t notice... Think maybe... Because eat and sleep? Been doing normal human things?” He shrugs. “Imagine how... powerbful... Deacon? Could be if fully rested.”

“I’d be at max powerb,” Deacon agrees. “None of you would recognize me. And not for the normal reasons.” 

“But yeah, I...” Rig slumps. “Don’t... know... I just am. I’m just a man from 1946— Uh. 2077. Who doesn’t. Know anything about. Uh.” He furrows his brow. “Mayblee it was... something that experiment did. But— But why aren’t there... others... Hmm.”

“Worry about it later,” Echo says. “One mystery at a time.”

“...Okay,” Rig says. He goes silent and listens to the others form a plan of action while Echo finishes cooking and serving breakfast. He stares at the plate and sets it down. Not hungry. He still isn’t hungry. Several days and he still only eats because someone told him to... Yet he feels nauseous now that _one_ of his secrets is on the table for them... The temptation to trust them with one he could never admit before the war...

His hand goes to his chest, feeling for old memories and how good they were for all he was always uncertain if... If the Railroaders didn’t survive the war, then did _they?_ Did others who...? What is there now for people who...?

He sighs and opens his journal to the poem he had just been working on to sketch a small symbol. One he knows well and has seen numerous times. Transparency...

“Rig.”

He looks up at Echo’s voice.

“Eat your breakfast, bud.”

“Oh... Right...”

* * *

The next settlement is much closer to Sunnville than Buttonwood is. Only an hour of walking, give or take a few minutes, and they’re walking in when Deacon immediately dips away saying he has to do something while there. Nick and Echo know better than to question, and instead work out their own plan.

“So I think it’s _your_ turn to watch Rig,” Nick says. “I’ll take Dogmeat and ask around on that side of the settlement if you two want to check around here.”

“You stay safe,” Echo smirks. “Don’t make me have to go rescue you.”

Nick chuckles and plants a kiss on the top of her head. “Same to you, _dear.”_

Echo grins and then turns her head toward Rig. “Rigster, you’re with me. Come on.”

Rig nods and follows Echo while Nick and Dogmeat disappear around the corner. He looks around as they go at what looks like a farming area in the near distance, the metal siding and wooden boards cobbled together into structure shapes, just a testament of the resourcefulness of whoever built them... “So...” he starts, breaking the seconds-long silence that plagued them for centuries. “You and Nick...?”

“We’re... partners,” Echo says.

“Yeah...?” Rig looks at her, confusion on his face. “Like... romantically? Is dating still a thing?”

“...Yes? Yes.”

“Oh, huh.” Rig wrinkles his nose. “I mean, as long as I’m not expected to date anyone...”

Echo looks back at him. “Not a fan of dating?”

“No, not really.” Rig looks around and frowns. “I don’t really... Find people... Uh. I’m— I’m not interested in. _People.”_

“You don’t need to explain it,” Echo says. “I’m not judging you.” She spies something shiny catching the sunlight that hits her eyes. She crouches down and reaches for it. A pair of scissors? She picks them up...

_Snip snip._

_“Teddy, you always let your hair grow so long,” she laughs as she gives the doctor a trim._

_“I get busy,” Dr. Ted counters. “Patients and all.”_

_“I live right across from you. That’s no excuse.” She snips the last of the wayward hairs, evening out Dr. Ted’s head, and then hands him a mirror. “What do you think? Shorter?”_

_“Perfect.” Dr. Ted stands up and turns to face her and smiles. “Thank you, as always, Lady.” He leans in and kisses her._

_“Ooh, you charmer,” she laughs, draping her arms over his shoulders. “You know how to make a ghoul happy.”_

_“So is that payment enough?”_

_She grins. “12 caps for the haircut, lovely.”_

_“Dammit.”_

_“You know the deal,”_ Echo mumbles, snipping the scissors as she stands back up. She looks back at Rig. “So—” She stops and looks at the amount of distance between her and Rig. “I’m putting the scissors in my bag now, okay?”

“Okay,” Rig calls, quiet from the distance between them. He shuffles up as she puts the scissors away as promised and grimaces. “Sorry, I... saw you pick them up and. _Reacted.”_

“Right, sorry,” Echo says. “I... recognized them. They’re Lady’s scissors.”

“They are?” Rig brightens. “So she was here? Might still be here?”

“Maybe,” Echo agrees. She continues walking around the corner. “We just need to—” She stops and stares.

Rig stops beside her and looks at the graffiti on the wall. “...L’s Angels again?”

Echo frowns. “So they were here too... Alright, stick with me. We’re going to ask a few people if they saw anything.”

Rig nods and follows after her. He listens as she talks to random settlers in search of answers. At some point during the interviews, he takes out his journal yet again, this time to keep notes on what people say...

> **Lady**
> 
>   * Passed through for food/supplies
>   * Offerred haircuts for caps
>   * Left towards Cherbridge
>   * Unijured
> 

> 
> **Angels**
> 
>   * 4 men - one is ghoul
>   * Big on left graffit
>   * Mentione something bout loose strings
>   * Asked about rig miller
> 


That last note is a bit nerve-racking. What do they know about him—? Rather, what do they know about the actual Rig that they’re asking about him too? He’ll have to fix those spelling errors later...

Echo frowns at him. “So we know where to go next at least. And we know that those Angels know something about this too.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rig agrees, staring at his notes still.

“I think I see Nick,” she says. “You wait here a moment, and then we’ll head out. Deacon can catch up.”

“Okay,” Rig says. He glances at her as she heads off towards Nick and then sighs. Great, great, great. Potential danger? _Wonderful._ If he has to fear for his life _again..._

“Abomination.”

Rig stiffens and glances over his shoulder. That can’t be about...?

“That synth walking around as if it has free will,” a settler says to their companion. “Disgusting.”

Rig follows their gazes to Nick and Echo. Didn’t Nick say he’s a...? _Oh..._ Oh, he’s going to die. “Why wouldn’t he have free will?” he asks. Unhindered, illrestrained. Oh _no,_ he’s going to die.

The settlers take notice of him. “What?” one of them asks.

“He’s people,” Rig says. “People tend to have free will.”

“He’s a _machine,”_ the other argues.

“Yeah?” Rig shrugs. “Machines can be people. Don’t need to be human for that.”

“You can’t be a person if you weren’t born naturally,” the first says. “Synths weren’t born, they were _made.”_

“What does that have to do with anything?” Rig frowns. “I was never born either. Not in the wa—”

“You’re a _synth?!”_ the second gasps.

“Wha—? No, I—” Rig recognizes that kind of stance. The threatening postures, the anger in their eyes. He instantly shuts up and covers his face for protection as he turns away. He rather not see them punch him.

He hears the growl of a mad dog and the shout of a mad woman. Rig barely has time to see Echo and Dogmeat attacking the settlers with Nick stoically watching before he turns away again, breathing shallow and body shaking.

Someone grabs onto him and he doesn’t think, just lets them guide him out of the settlement, their arm holding him close until they’re far enough away and Rig’s had enough time to _breathe_ to make sure he’s not being kidnapped.

“...Deacon,” Rig says. “Wig?”

“What?” Deacon asks, reaching for the black hair on his head. “No, I’ve always had this hair.”

Rig frowns.

“It’s a wig,” Deacon assures. “So... Almost got yourself into a scrape there, huh, Rigs?”

Rig glances at the settlement behind them and then swallows. “They... thought I was a synth? There’s...” He racks his brain. Something Nick said. “There’s organic synths.” He points a shaking finger at himself. “Fleshy, human-looking ones?”

“Are you one?” Deacon asks. “No shame in admitting it. You’re among friends.”

“No— No, I don’t...” Rig shakes his head. “I don’t know enough about... what synths are... to— to say if...” He flinches and looks away. “You— You ever get deja vu...?”

“Oh, sure,” Deacon says. “Talking down a panicking stranger? Totally done this before.”

“I’ve had...” Rig’s holding his journal for dear life. He puts it away at long last. Did he drop the pen? Heck. He wrings his hands instead. Just to do _something_ with them. “I’ve had nightmares. Like that.”

Deacon frowns. “People coming at you for something they think you are?”

Rig goes quiet. “It’s gonna sound stupid,” he says, small and nervous.

“Hey, if it terrifies you, I’m not going to judge.”

“...Someone beating up someone who hurt me while I watch with no emotion.”

Deacon furrows his brow. “Huh... Well, I can promise you. Nick’s _definitely_ feeling emotion. It’s a wonder his computer-y brain can hold that much emotion.”

“...Better his brain than his hands,” Rig utters, soft and unsure. “Then he couldn’t hold other things.”

“That’s the spirit,” Deacon grins. His smile drops. “Soon as the others get here, we’re going to have to have a long talk about just what synths are, Rigsby. So you know what not to say.”

“The Macbeth joke?” Rig whines.

“Hey, not everyone is as cultured as us.”

“But that’s the only Shakespeare reference I know...”

“Oh, so that twelfth night line wasn’t a reference?”

Rig looks up at him, eyes wide. “...You read the...?”

Deacon grabs Rig by the shoulders and holds him steady. “Like I said. If you actually are a synth...”

Rig swallows, chest feeling tight as he tries not to shake at the thought. “We’re... going to Cherbridge,” he says.

“Yeah...?”

“...There’s somewhere I want to stop by while we’re there.” Rig winces. “Assuming it’s... still standing.”

* * *

Nick, Echo, and Dogmeat make it out of the settlement with only a few scuffs and sour attitudes. They avoid saying what happened to the settlers, for Rig’s sake, for which he’s grateful.

Then comes the crash course in what synths are, what the opinion of them are and why... The Institute, what they were doing, the fact it used to be CIT...

“Of _course_ it’s CIT,” Rig mumbles at that. _“Heck_ CIT.”

They go into what happened to the Institute to take it down, but they skip the details on the hows and whos. Rig feels like there’s something more they’re skipping... Something they started to say before thinking better of it. Not here, not now, anyway.

That’s fair, he thinks. They don’t owe him any of their secrets. Just like he doesn’t owe them any of his.

He has sudden doubts about the stop he wants to make in Cherbridge, but... No, he needs this for himself, even if not them...

The conversation takes up the entire time it takes to get to Cherbridge, but there’s not much left of the old town. More than that, there’s no sign of Lady still in Cherbridge, but there’s no sign that L’s Angels passed through either. No tell-tale signs of graffiti in any case. All the searching ends with them in front of an office in the middle of town.

Transparency, Inc.

“This the place?” Nick asks to which Rig only nods. “Well, what did they do here?”

“You know that ink that turns invisible after you use it?” Rig asks.

“Invisible ink?” Echo asks.

“They _don’t_ do that.”

_“Helpful,”_ Nick scoffs. “Alright, let’s get in and look around then. What are you here for, Rig?”

“It’s a medical office,” Rig says. “They...” He shrugs. “Helped some friends of mine... It’s a good place. They were always so happy to come here, get the help they needed. I just... Wanted to see it.”

Deacon gets the door open. “Ladies first?” He motions with a grin at Echo.

Echo looks in, as if checking for traps, and then walks in. She looks around the lobby as the others follow her in and she frowns.

“Weird,” she mumbles.

“Huh?” Rig asks.

“Nothing,” Echo says. “Just...” She points at a photo, faded and dirty, by hanging in a broken frame on the wall. “You said this was a _medical_ office? Then what’s _that_ there?”

“Oh, your Railroader friends,” Deacon observes, walking up to the photo labeled with a small, broken plaque reading “lesex Railroad” underneath. “Which of these is Ricki?”

“No, that’s probably the Transparency, Inc. Railroaders,” Rig says, following him up to the photo. “A lot of them were into model trains and so were in the club.”

“Weird,” Nick says. “These Railroaders were everywhere, huh?”

“Not... _everywhere...”_ Rig hesitates and then points at the doors deeper into the office. “We should... keep going.”

“You know your way around?” Echo asks.

“Assuming they didn’t change things,” Rig shrugs. “Hadn’t had to come here in a while...” He smiles. “It’s good though. They...” He looks at the doors and starts towards them.

“Wait, Rig,” Echo hurries in front of him. “You have to be careful of traps.”

“...Oh,” Rig frowns. “Okay.”

“Also raiders, ferals, deathclaws, protectrons,” Deacon lists. _“Radroaches.”_

_“Oh,”_ Rig stresses. _“Okay.”_

“We’ll make sure things are safe,” Echo assures. “You just tell us where we need to go.”

Rig nods. “Alright. Alright. Sure. First thing is... through those doors.”

They go through the doors. It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s _fine._ It’s dark and eerie, but as they go through the once clean, white hallways, they don’t encounter anything _dangerous_ aside from a few aforementioned radroaches that the others make short work of.

Rig stops at a sign. Surgical to the left, Consultation to the right. He has them go right.

“They did _surgeries_ here?” Nick asks as he takes a side-glance at the sign. “What kind of surgeries?”

“I don’t know,” Rig says. “I never asked.”

Behind him, Echo gives Nick a look and a hand signal. _Lying._

Nick frowns and signals back. _Understood._

Deacon looks at them and gives them his own signal. _You check that way, I’ll stick with him._

Echo nods. “Rig, Nick and I are going to look around those surgical rooms.”

Rig looks back at them, a brief flash of fear on his face. “Um... Okay,” he says.

“Dogmeat,” Echo orders, and Dogmeat looks alert. “Make sure Deacon and Rig stay out of trouble.”

Dogmeat barks and pants and trots up between Rig and Deacon.

“And yet,” Deacon hums. “Not the furriest chaperone I’ve had.”

“You stay safe,” Nick orders, and he and Echo head back the other way.

Once the other two are out of earshot, Echo whispers to Nick. “It’s really eerie here.”

“Besides it being an empty, quiet medical office?” Nick asks.

“He’s not wrong,” she says. “Rig. He’s not wrong. Most of the feelings I’m getting from this place are _happy.”_

Nick frowns. “And I’m assuming you mean this is odd in a way _besides_ it being weird people are happy to see a doctor.”

“Something feels _wrong_ here,” Echo says. “I’m getting weird _horror_ vibes, but... Most of the patients were _happy_ to have their procedures.”

“Do you know what procedures?” Nick looks into a room and spies a terminal. He checks for traps and then opens the door. He curses and shoots at the radroaches that scramble into sight.

“Got several echos already,” she says. “I’m still surprised Rig hasn’t noticed yet. But... I have an idea of what happened here, yes.” Echo goes to the terminal and hacks it just as easily as the terminals at Parsons. 

> _Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink_
> 
> _Transparency, Inc. - Administration_
> 
> **Drug Testing**
> 
> **Middlesex Railroaders**
> 
> **Free Procedures**

Echo and Nick glance at each other. Echo starts at the top of the list.

> **Drug Testing**
> 
> We have received funding from external sources [See file Funding Sources] to create a revolutionary drug that will change bodily traits within an accelerated time frame that cannot be altered through surgery alone. The goal is to allow a means for better undercover work or otherwise disguise for the user.
> 
> We have created two versions of this drug: TST for women and EST for men. Human testing is necessary, but finding subjects is proving difficult due to the need to list the potential side effects, death included, and our lack of desire to provide compensation. Our motto of full transparency for test subjects is proving to be working against us.
> 
> Perhaps we need to start hiding the purpose of this test.

“I see what the problem is,” Nick says.

“Yeah, I think we both know where this is going,” Echo winces.

“But what do the Railroaders have to do with it?” Nick asks.

> **Middlesex Railroaders**
> 
> We’ve been given a golden opportunity! We were contacted by a “train enthusiast” club asking about the drug test on behalf of some of their members. The Railroaders are willing to deliver what we’ve taken to calling “model trains” for us to use for testing.
> 
> We will be negotiating final details soon.

Echo pinches the bridge of her nose. “Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcool.”

Nick frowns. “Rig doesn’t know, does he?”

_“Coolcoolcool.”_

> **Free Procedures**
> 
> In hopes of gaining more subjects to ensure the effectiveness of all versions of our drugs, Transparency, Inc. has agreed to offer surgical procedures and drug consultation for free for all men and women brought to us through the Railroaders. We can recoup our losses later after developing the drug as our sponsors want it and selling it at an inflated price. Transparency, Inc. personnel have orders not to tell models that these procedures are experimental and for the purposes of testing without compensation and are not to state the negative potential side effects. As per agreement with the Railroaders, we will conduct these procedures in secret, which means we will be relying on the Railroaders to bring us models, but this will allow us to avoid legal trouble or ethics investigations.

Echo screams quietly into her hands. Nick scowls and looks away from the terminal.

“Of course this place...” He groans. “We can never find a corporation that _isn’t_ terrible, can we?”

Echo continues to scream. She stops to take a breath and then waves the excess energy away. “I’m fine. I’m fine. So. Rig wanted to come here for a reason, huh.”

“Some of his friends came here,” Nick says. “Some of his friends were Railroaders...” He frowns. “He knew the ‘model train’ term...”

Echo stands just as she hears barking approaching them. “Dogmeat...?”

“Something must have happened,” Nick says.

Echo furrows her brow. “Or they found something out. Let’s go check on them.”

* * *

“Rig,” Echo says out of nowhere. “Nick and I are going to look around those surgical rooms.”

Rig looks back at them, a brief flash of fear on his face. “Um... Okay,” he says.

“Dogmeat,” Echo orders, and Dogmeat looks alert. “Make sure Deacon and Rig stay out of trouble.”

Dogmeat barks and pants and trots up between Rig and Deacon.

“And yet,” Deacon hums. “Not the furriest chaperone I’ve had.”

“You stay safe,” Nick orders, and he and Echo head back the other way.

Rig watches them go and then runs a hand in his hair and lets out a breath. “Okay. Okay, sure.” He looks forward again. “Let’s see, it should be... This one? Is there a terminal in this room?”

Deacon peeks in. “A couple.”

“That’s probably it,” Rig nods. “I just want to check some... of the, uh... information...”

“On your friends?” Deacon asks. “Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”

Rig looks at the ground and avoids Deacon’s face. Dogmeat nudges Rig’s hand, and Rig gives him a small pat. “Let’s just... Go in?”

“Riiight.” Deacon checks for traps and then shoves the door open. He walks up to the two terminals. “Well, take your pick. Left or right.”

“Left,” Rig says, walking up to the left terminal.

“Right is tight,” Deacon quips. “I’m good over here. Hey, bet I can hack in before you can?”

“Oh, were we... supposed to race?” Rig asks, already on his second try. He gets it on the third. “Uh... Whoops.”

Deacon glances at his screen. “You must have gotten an easy password.”

“Probably,” Rig says. He skims through the entries on the terminal. Shoot, it’s alphabetical by surname... He glances to the masking tape on top of the terminal and now sees the “A-M” on top.

...Wait.

“Can we trade?” Rig asks.

“Whaaat?” Deacon whines in a fake, pouty tone. “I just got in.”

“I want to trade,” Rig says. “Please.”

“Fine, whatever you say.” Deacon steps aside and then around Rig as Rig moves to the right terminal. “I’ll just read through _these_ then.”

“Thanks,” Rig says. He looks at the label taped to this terminal. N-Z. Good, perfect.

> _Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink_
> 
> _Transparency, Inc. - Drug Consultation_
> 
> **Nash, Frieda**
> 
> **Nathans, Goldie**
> 
> **Nathans, Mark**
> 
> **...**

This is too many to read all of them, Rig skips straight to the one he actually cares about...

> **Ray, Apollo**
> 
> June 20th, 2062
> 
> The Apollo Ray case has been marked as expedited and Ray has responded positively to using our experimental drug program. Following surgery in the coming week [see surgeon’s files for details] we will admit Ray to the TST-0061 test group.

So far so good....

> June 30th, 2062
> 
> We have given Ray a 100 gram dosage of TST-0061. There are no initial side effects.

_Grams, what the heck that’s so much._ That’s not how much they told him it was, how did they _do_ that? This is worse than he thought what the _heck._ Maybe it’s not all bad...?

> July 7th, 2062
> 
> Ray’s body changes are following the predicted schedule [See file 0061 Sch. C]
> 
> August 18, 2062
> 
> Ray appears to have reached all predicted changes with no unexpected side effects. Updates will now include periodic field observations.

“Periodic what?” he mutters, wrinkling his nose. “Does that mean...?”

Rig forces himself to skim through the rest rather than read the entire file. Entries jump between months at a time, most of them for dates he knows he never came here or spoke to anyone he knew was from here. They— They have an entry about his stress from school that made him drop out. About moving in with actual Rig? About— About _things,_ just watching him as if he weren’t a person but just an experiment...

Just... a model train for them to make and set on a track and watch how it runs.

He gets to the last entry, from early October, 2077. There’s nothing he can use there, just more nauseating spying.

“...So,” Deacon utters, low and perhaps concerned. “What’s that about, then...?”

Rig looks at Deacon and then down at the file Deacon has open on the left terminal. Giles... Mary. Mary Giles, Rig thinks as he looks to the final entry on the significantly shorter list of entries. Mary, the friend he made through the Railroaders and lost contact with in.... 2074.

> May 12, 2074
> 
> Giles has developed a disorder [see Surgeon’s file] as a side effect of EST-0096. Giles will be dealt with appropriately.

Rig looks back to the right terminal. He goes back to the file listings, suddenly frantic as he searches through other names he knows. Hector. Bea. Larson. Mark. Edith. Petunia. Too many to count and probably more on the other terminal. Most of them “dealt with” following complications with their dosage or version of their drug.

“Hey— Rig. _Rigsby.”_

He should have known. _He should have known._ It was too good to be true back then. Too easy an out. _And he fell for it._ Just like everyone else. Because— Because some _corporation_ wanted _free lab rats._

“Rig. _Apollo!”_

He looks up at Deacon’s blurry face. Blurry...? Oh... He feels his cheeks. Tears. Of course. Of course. He backs away, into some long forgotten filing cabinets. He slides down onto the ground. He starts sobbing.

Dogmeat whines, pacing back and forth and trying to nudge against Rig. Deacon watches, grimacing and gripping a fist.

“Dogmeat,” Deacon says. “Get Echo and Nick. They’re better at this.”

Dogmeat whines again but takes off out of the room. Deacon takes a breath and slowly lets it out. He lowers himself next to Rig.

“You need to...” Deacon hesitates. “Uh...” He cringes when Rig leans into him to cry. “Okay. Okay. Sure. Just... Let it out. Get your tears and snot all over my shirt. I don’t mind.”

Rig laughs and then cries harder.

Deacon sighs and wraps an arm around Rig’s shoulder and pulls him close. “Hey, look. I may not have a full idea what is going on here, but... You want to talk about whatever this was, that’s up to you.”

Rig sniffles. “They... killed my friends,” he whispers. “They killed people they claimed to be wanting to help. They _spied_ on them because this was all just an _experiment_ to them like I always worried it was.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Deacon says. “I’m no stranger to people like that, and it’s the same advice every time. _Fuck ‘em._ Anyone who screws over innocent people like that should rot in hell. ‘Thy sin’s not accidental, but a trade’.” At Rig’s look of curiosity, he grins. “Measure for Measure. Shakespeare.”

“Oh,” Rig says. “I am a fool.”

“‘Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit,’” Deacon quotes.

“Hmm?”

“Twelfth Night,” Deacon answers. “So is this next one.” He clears his throat and takes on a tone like an actor. “‘In nature there’s no blemish but the mind. None can be called deformed but the unkind.’”

Rig thinks it over... He smiles. “I... like that one.”

“Good,” Deacon says. He looks up at the sound of footsteps, and he stands, leaving Rig behind on the floor as Dogmeat bounds up to Rig with Echo and Nick appearing in the doorway. “Well look what the dog dragged in.”

“What happened?” Nick asks.

“I cried,” Rig says.

“I _see_ that,” Nick says. “Why were you crying?”

Rig grimaces. “I’ll... tell you after we get out of here and find somewhere better to talk.”

“Thank _god,”_ Echo mumbles. She clears her throat. “We’ve got some information you might want to know too. Once we get out of here.”

Rig winces. “Good information...?”

“...No.”

* * *

They move out of Transparency, Inc. to the open solitude of the edge of Cherbridge where Echo and Nick start by summarizing what they read on the admin terminal. Rig has his face in his hand the entire time and squeaks out a “do you think they knew?” at the end of it.

“The Railroaders?” Echo asks. “Maybe. I want to say, probably a majority of them didn’t know.”

Rig whines in the back of his throat. “And the ones that did know wouldn’t have— wouldn’t have stopped it...”

“You think so?” Nick asks. “You don’t trust the Railroaders _not_ to hand over their members to a company experimenting on them?”

“It’s not like we had a choice,” Rig says. “They had us by the necks. There’s no better option.” He stares at his hands in his lap. “Free, fast, and under the table...” He grips his fists and groans. “The entire thing the Railroaders were doing was illegal. It was either Transparency or nothing.”

“I thought you said you weren’t a Railroader,” Deacon says.

Rig winces. “I’m... not.” He looks up at them, eyes darting across their faces. “I... I’m a _model.”_

Nick frowns. “Are you... comfortable telling us what this whole thing was about...?”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Rig asks. “Railroaders are gone, I don’t need to keep anyone’s secrets ‘cept my own if they’re all dead...” He slumps his shoulders. “Only thing I’d have to worry about is— is being killed if it’s still not accepted... Which is the way I’d least like to die.”

“You saw what happened when someone was prejudiced against Nick around us,” Echo points out. “You don’t have to worry about the three of us. As long as you’re a good person, we’ll accept you.”

Rig glances at her, his eyes sad and darting away. “I’m not the best at being a plerson.”

Echo smiles. “You did that on purpose that time.”

Rig takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “I don’t know... It’s been something I’ve kept secret since moving here from Florida. I mean, before that even, but major parts of it happened here...”

“How about we go a different direction,” Nick says. “Is this why you’re accepting of _me?”_ He frowns. “I wasn’t sure if it was because you weren’t the most _stable_ when you first walked into my office or if you actually weren’t pre-war and already knew about me or what. But you’ve been consistently calling me a person, and defended me when some folks said I wasn’t.”

“You _are_ a person,” Rig frowns. “Right?”

“Of course,” Nick says. “But that’s not the thing most people immediately jump to if they’ve never seen a synth before.”

Rig hesitates. “I don’t know if that’s... causation... But it’s possibly correlated... It’s— I felt weird about the idea of owning a Mr. Handy for similar reasons. After Noland told me they could be sentient people if those two failsafes limiting their ability to think and their behavior were gone.” He swipes a hand through his hair and takes a small breath. “It just seemed cruel, keeping personhood from someone capable of it. Keeping the behavior failsafe but not the thinking one is especially cruel. Because then they _are_ a person but still have to do what humans say. I just say they make me nervous because that’s... more acceptable, back then, for why I wouldn’t want one. For you, it’s just... Of _course_ you’re a person. If ‘no man by woman born’ applies to me then it applies to you too.”

“Huh...” Nick hums. “Never thought about that. I _could_ kill Macbeth, couldn’t I?”

“Not a man,” Echo says, raising her hand. “I could too.”

Deacon smirks. “I’d say whether or not I could, but that’d be telling you too much about myself.”

Rig tilts his head. “It. Applies to me twice because I was both born through C-section _and_ wasn’t born a man.”

Deacon sits a bit straighter. “Thaaaaat explains your poem,” he says. “You giving more context, or...?”

“...Railroaders used the term ‘transgender’,” Rig says. “So, I’m... trans. Someone whose gender isn’t what people said it was when I was born.”

“Aaaand _that_ explains the Twelfth Night reference...”

Rig sighs. “It’s... the kind of thing that could get you in trouble. People get hurt if it’s found out. People die. Railroaders were... using the Transcontinental Railroad as their inspiration, because puns. Middlesex just made it a different kind of pun. Ricki and her sister were the train-spotters that found me. Because train-spotters looked for trans people who might be in hiding to.... To help them in whatever way they need.” He winces. “I... needed a new identity and to get away from my family. I was nineteen. They got my case done in one summer, and the only way to do that was through Transparency. A different Railroader, Trace Emery, did the stuff for illegally deleting all records of the person I didn’t want to be, setting up my new name and gender marker on all my newly forged files, making sure I got back into PITS for the fall semester since the credits I got in my previous year were now gone. But _Transparency_ made it that I could pass as a man without people knowing I’m trans.”

Rig looks away. “I.... thought it was suspicious, but...” He holds his neck. “Had me at the neck. Trace didn’t trust Transparency and made sure my name was changed before they met me so they wouldn’t know my old identity. But doing that was double-edged. Had to follow through with _something_ until I could pass for a man and not be suspicious about it, but I was going to go back to college in a few months and didn’t have time for something expensive and long term but just as under wraps. Fast, free, no one would know. Something I _wanted_ so _much,_ just so I could live in a way that made me _happy?_ I couldn’t say no, and if I did I’d get caught. It was suspicious but I tried to convince myself I wasn’t a test subject, that they actually wanted to help us, but they let so many of us _die_ just because the test failed?” He groans. “And then you said that thing about Vault 113 and...” He wrinkles his nose. “Just... hate that I keep being used like this... Hate that these kinda things keep preying on des— desperation. Don’t think there’s anything _you’d_ want from me, so... figured it’s safe to tell you... Never even told the actual Rig. Afraid of what he might have thought...”

“Hey,” Nick scolds. “If you think _I’m_ the ‘actual’ Nick, then _you’re_ the ‘actual’ Rig, alright? I know I said otherwise before, but you don’t need it to be official to go by a different name, so if you want to be called Rig Miller, then you’re the actual Rig Miller.”

Rig smiles a little. “Lady will be upset about that. But...” He frowns. “Rig is more fitting, ain’t it? ‘Parency rigged it so we wouldn’t have a choice. Vault-Tec rigged it so they’d have test subjects too. Even Parsons rigged it so I’d do work for free and not realize. Just... kinda want to go back to sleep and not deal with any of this...”

“Awww,” Deacon coos. “Don’t want to be stuck with us anymore, huh?”

Rig glances away and shakes his head, uncertain. “So... You don’t. I mean. I’m— blugh. I don’t want this to. Change things. I’m a man, and— and as far as you know, I’m not trans. Kinda just... want to bury the whole Transparency and Railroaders thing for now... _Ugh,_ why did _this_ have to be the day I’m lucid...?” He slides off his crate onto the ground and lies in the dirt. “Ughhhhhh.” He rolls onto his back. “And I get so _wordy_ when lucid, why did I tell you all thiiiiiiis?”

Dogmeat huffs and pads over. He lies down on top of Rig. Rig resigns to his fate and lies still.

“This doesn’t change, anything, Rigster,” Echo assures. “You want to rest here for a bit before we get going?”

“I’m already dead, thank you,” Rig says, closing his eyes.

Deacon lets out a breath and stands up. “Well. If you guys are going to hang out here, I’m going to check with something. Got some business to do...” He tilts his head at Echo. “You know the kind.”

“Right,” Echo nods. “How long do you think you’ll take?”

“I’ll be back by nightfall,” Deacon promises. “If I’m not.” He points finger guns. “Assume the mirelurks wanted their king back.”

“King crab,” Rig mumbles.

Deacon thins his lips. “...Alright, I’ll catch up.” He takes off, away from Cherbridge.

Rig lifts his head to watch Deacon leave and then looks at the other two. “Is it... bad that I trusted you three with all this stuff about me when I know nothing about you...?”

Nick hesitates. “Just... be more careful with who you trust, kid. You got lucky with the three of us, but not everyone around here is so kind, and you don’t want to risk telling the wrong person things they shouldn’t know. We aren’t the only trustworthy people, but...”

“Should of...” Rig frowns. “Gotten to know you better first...?”

“Exactly.”

“You just...” Rig lays his head back down and stares at the sky. “Remind me a lot of people who I’ve trusted, I guess. You would have liked Ricki and Victoria and Rig. They were good people.”

Echo stands up. “I’m going to scavenge for supplies while we’re waiting. Nick, it’s your turn to babysit Rig. Dogmeat, let’s go, boy.”

“We’re still calling it that?” Rig asks. He lies still as Dogmeat gets off to follow after Echo. “Find me a new pen, please,” he says as they’re leaving.

“I’ll do my best,” Echo calls back.

Once Echo is gone, Rig sits up and sighs. “I... want a shower.”

Nick smirks and pulls out a cigarette. “You need one.”

“Do you want to read that poem Deacon mentioned...?”

“...Sure, show it here.”


	8. Boy Howdy Friendos You're in for a Fluffy Sweet Treat Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone makes a pit stop.

In lieu of a pen, Rig draws in the dirt as they wait for Deacon to come back. Little drawings that turn into squiggles that turn into triangles... He draws a game of hangman on the ground, which Echo and Nick quickly make their guesses for. Echo gets the first word of “flamingo”, Nick guesses the second of “tangerine”, and Echo gets the next two words: “tropical” and “molybdenum oxotransferase”.

“That’s cheating,” Nick says. “You can’t use fancy science words like that.”

“Don’t be mad because you lost,” Echo laughs, gently nudging into Nick’s shoulder. She looks out into the distance at the darkening sky. “Hmm. Deacon should have been back by now...” She stands and whistles. “Dogmeat, let’s go look for Deacon.”

“Will you be able to find your way back?” Nick asks.

“...If I’m not back in an hour.”

“Got it,” Nick nods. “Stay safe.”

Echo smiles and tiptoes over Rig’s drawings with Dogmeat walking around her as they head off in search.

Nick watches her leave and then eyes Rig still writing in the dirt. “...So,” he says. “You know fancy science words, huh...?”

Meanwhile, out in the quiet and covering of the oncoming night, Echo keeps her eyes peeled as she follows Deacon’s trail with Dogmeat close by and occasionally nudging her in a new direction at the whiff of Deacon’s scent.

She sees tall grass and dry trees. Something someone might pass their eyes over in light of all the other tall grass and dry trees if they weren’t looking for something specific. She sees something. Or rather, some _one._ She makes her way over, and sure enough...

“Where’d I put that shovel?” she asks.

“It’s not _that_ bad, is it?” Deacon groans as he sits up and tries not to move his leg. “So, you’ve found me. The guardian angel of death herself.”

Dogmeat boofs and circles around, patrolling. Echo crouches down to inspect the damage.

“We might need to amputate,” she says.

“That’s what I get for skipping leg day,” Deacon sighs.

“I’ve got a stimpak,” Echo says. “But, what happened?”

“What can I say?” Deacon shrugs. He winces as she rolls up his pant leg. “Oo-oo-oo, be more _careful._ Damaged goods.” He clears his throat. “What can I say? Mirelurks revolted against their king— Nah, see? Doesn’t have the same sting to it now.”

“What exactly was your plan?” Echo asks. “Sit here and wait for one of us to find you?”

“I had a plan,” Deacon insists. “I was seconds away from executing it, is all. But you showed up so, I guess I can just throw that plan away.” He pantomimes ripping something in half and tossing it to the side.

“Better burn it for good measure,” Echo adds.

“Good plan.” Deacon lights a “match” and tosses it onto the “papers”. He makes a _fwoosh_ sound and then a _“Ack—”_ when Echo stabs him with the stimpak. _“Gentle,_ god.”

“As soon as you can walk, we can get back to the others,” Echo says as she finishes working on Deacon’s leg.

“Mm, _about_ that...”

Echo looks up at him. “You’re quitting the case? I thought you were invested in Rig’s situation.”

“Oh, no, I’m _heavily_ invested,” Deacon frowns. “He’s just... He’s too _honest_ to be truthful. If he’s got something dangerous about him, I want to be ready for it. After all, he mentioned how he went to school at PITS, right...?”

“Yeah?” Echo tilts her head, eyeing the holotape Deacon pulls out in suspicion. “That’s a...?”

“Picked it up at a dead drop.” He holds it out for her to take. “Has some _interesting_ news on it you might want to know.”

Echo takes the holotape and sets it up to listen...

_[Popper here. Stragglers taking root in the Pits. Trying to reforest the Commonwealth. Looking for the sun. Popper out.]_

Echo sighs. “Well. Let’s hope they’re not Icarus and flying too close... Though it’d be nice if they crashed and burned in the ocean. Save us some trouble.”

Deacon nods. “I’ve been hoping to rig it so we don’t end up with a laurel buuuut...”

“Your leg?” Echo guesses.

“Nah, I just tripped.”

“...Sure.” Echo stands up and brushes off her knees. “We need to get back to Nick and Rig then.” She holds out a hand to help Deacon up. He takes her hand, and her vision flashes from Deacon’s face below her to Deacon’s reflection in a Pip-Boy... A glance up to a vault door as it rolls open to darkness. 113... “So...” she says as she retracts her hand.

“So,” Deacon counters.

“Let’s get back.” She whistles to call Dogmeat back and then looks at Deacon. “You lead.”

“Sure,” Deacon says as he limps forward. “Follow me as I hobble through the wastelands in the dark with both of us wearing sunglasses.”

“I’m not carrying you.”

“Worth a shot!”

They head back towards Cherbridge, tense and silent the entire time. The tension only grows when they reach the edge of the old city limits where Nick and Rig _aren’t_ where they _should be._

“Oh god _dammit,”_ Deacon mumbles. “Think they took shelter somewhere?”

Echo doesn’t answer and approaches the spot the two had been... She looks down at the game of hangman and Rig’s other dirt artwork and the footprints and drag marks now replacing them. “Well _shit.”_

* * *

“—ick...? Uh... Shoot... Nick?”

Nick feels something touch his shoulder, and he immediately smacks it away. His eyesight comes online, and he looks up to see Rig holding his hand, presumably where he had just been hit. “Rig—?” He gets up with a whine of his parts. “Ugh— Give me a moment. Where are we...?”

Rig grimaces. “Sullivan Building. One of the PITS off-campus buildings...”

Nick squints at him. “We were kidnapped.”

“Mmmmmaybe.”

“You have a cut on your arm.”

“Nnnnnjust my right arm, it’s okay.”

_“Rig.”_ Nick gets up and Rig follows him to his feet. He looks around, trying to recall what managed to save to his memory before passing out. Whatever it was... “Happened fast, didn’t it?” He takes off his hat and rubs his head. “Who exactly...?”

Rig shrugs. “Um... People. With guns? And. Threats?” He glances at the door and rubs his chest through his blue shirt, with his flamingo shirt covering his hand. “They’re still outside...”

Nick glances at Rig’s chest. “Hey...” He gently grabs Rig’s hand and moves it away. He starts to move the flamingo shirt, but Rig shoves Nick’s hand away.

“No, I’m fine,” Rig insists.

_“Rig.”_ Nick gives him a stern look. Rig winces and averts his gaze but pulls aside the flamingo shirt himself. Nick looks over the burns in the blue shirt right over Rig’s heart. “Damn... Electroshock prod?”

Rig does jazz hands and a less jazzed grimace. “Shocking-tingling, kinda bad. Two out of ten, would not recommend.”

“...A think a two is too high, Rig.”

“I mean, I didn’t... die...? So...?” Rig looks away. “I used to go to class here,” he mumbles. “Dr. Short. Tall man, fun class. Theoretical bio-engineering....”

Nick edges to the door and peeks through the window. Gen 2 synths... If he had back-up, this would be different, but he has Rig who probably never held a weapon in his life. He slips away from the window before anyone can see him active and paces out of view. “Hmm, so we need to get out of this. Echo is bound to find we’re missing and come after us sooner or later, but in the meantime our priority is not to die. Whoever has us... Possibly those Institute stragglers... But what’s the reason they took us instead of killing us? Are they trying to draw Echo here...?”

“Heck CIT,” Rig mutters.

“We just— Rig.” Nick looks at Rig who is very much not paying attention to him but instead staring at the blackboard and the complex equation on it. “Rig, are you listening?”

“No,” Rig answers.

“...Right.” Nick sighs. “What’s the problem?”

“That math is wrong,” Rig says. “It’s distracting...”

Nick rolls his eyes but then looks over the equation... “Huh. It is.”

“I kiiiinda want to...” Rig waves his hand. “Fix? It? But I... I don’t...”

Nick sighs. He walks up to the blackboard and picks up a chalk and holds it out. “If it’s bothering you that much, then why don’t you fix it?”

Rig winces. “I... I mean...” He sighs and shuffles over. He takes the chalk and immediately gets to work on correcting the math, muttering under his breath as he figures out the correct numbers and figures.

Nick watches him, tilting his head as a vague, unsettling suspicion settles in him. If he weren’t sure Rig isn’t a synth, this would be more evidence in that direction... He goes back to the back of the classroom, keeping Rig in sight as he pulls out a cigarette to smoke. They have time to wait...

* * *

The trail ends at an old, concrete building with a fading “Sullivan Building - Pleasantview Institute of Technology and Science” painted on the front. Gen 2 synths patrol the exterior with who knows what hidden inside besides, presumably, Nick and Rig. Deacon and Echo watch from a safe distance away, trying to map out a way in and a plan for what to do once there.

“What are the chances they don’t know who Sunny is?” Deacon whispers.

“What do they want with him anyway?” Echo asks.

“Well, you know,” Deacon says. “He’s the _Sol Survivor.”_

“Oh, stop,” Echo sighs. “I’d say he’s more of a _False Bard.”_

“Oh, and what? You’re a _Lost Guardian?”_

“...Shut up.”

“Anyway.” Deacon motions towards the side of the building. “We don’t know what’s inside, but the entrance over there seems to be our best bet. There’s probably no way to get in without setting off security alarms.”

Echo furrows her brow. “If they’re going to know we’re in there regardless then might as well make a show of it.”

“Big, theatrical distractions?” Deacon asks.

“The perfect cover for someone wanting to sneak around and find our boys.”

“Then I’ll let you take the spotlight while I take the stagehand position.”

_“Perfect.”_

* * *

Nick tilts his head towards the sound of an explosion that’s much too near to be anyone besides the rescue party. “Whelp, sounds like she’s here. Get ready to pack up soon, Rig.”

“Shh-shh-shh,” Rig hushes, still utterly engrossed in his math. “They got _so much wrong._ They— They don’t— _74? How did they get_ **_74?”_ **

“Rig.” Nick places a hand on Rig’s shoulder. “You don’t need to fix it completely. We have to get _out_ of here.”

Rig blinks at him and then glances at the math on the board. “Oh... Right....” He pockets the chalk with a small quip of “snack for later” and ignores Nick’s look of disgust in favor of swiping his hand to smear all his hard work away.

“Two things,” Nick says. “One: don’t eat chalk. Two: why’d you make a big fuss about the math only to erase it?”

“Because it was wrong,” Rig shrugs. “But I don’t know what they’re using it for. I don’t want them to have it.” He looks around and grins when he spies a pen holder full of fresh, clean pens. He empties the entire holder into his hand and adds the pens to his collection. “Mine.”

“Great,” Nick says. He glances to the door, hand reaching for a gun that does not seem to be where he left it. Should have expected that... He watches the door for any sort of action other than the shadows dancing in the glass... “Rig? Ready for a crash course about how not to get shot?”

Rig blinks at him and his smile disappears instantly. “What.”

Something bangs against the door. Nick throws an arm in front of Rig as something shoots at the door and then pushes it in.

“Someone order delivery?” Deacon grins, leaning in the doorway and shoving a wayward robotic hand out of sight with his foot.

“It’s been over 30 minutes,” Nick frowns. “That’s not the promised delivery time.”

“Sorry about that, sir,” Deacon nods. “The traffic here was _killer.”_

“I don’t like the implications of that pun,” Rig says. He grabs another piece of chalk. “Want a snack?”

“Later,” Deacon says. “We need to meet up with Echo and get out.” He glances at Nick. “You armed?”

Nick raises his fists. “Just these.”

“Yeah, let’s not.” Deacon disappears for a moment and then returns with a .44 revolver pistol and hands it to Nick. “Alright, just like old times.”

“Old times weren’t too long ago,” Nick reminds.

“Rig, stick close, alright?” Deacon says. “Try not to get shot. Consider this a crash course—”

“Nick already made that joke,” Rig says.

“Damn.” He shrugs. “In that case, let’s exit, stage left, pursued by the Institute.”

Rig shoves the other piece of chalk in his pocket and looks at Nick who motions for him to go first. He follows after Deacon, glancing around the once familiar halls of the Sullivan Building.

The gun fight they walk into right when they round a corner into some waiting synths is definitely something Rig will need to block from his memory later. In the moment, he hides behind Deacon who mutters something about being a human meatshield.

Another explosion. Rig flinches and covers his ears, until Nick nudges him forward to remind him to keep walking. Escaping is _important_ after all.

But really.

Heck CIT.

“You know your way around, Rig?” Deacon asks, startling Rig from detachment city.

“Where do you want to go?” Rig asks.

“You know how to get to the rotunda?”

“Rotundra,” Rig repeats. “Fastest way is to cut through the Administration Office and head out the—”

“Just show the way,” Nick orders.

“Okayokayokayokay.” Rig jogs ahead to the correct door and motions at it for the others to break down.

Another explosion, louder, closer, more shouts and chaos. Rig is way too dizzy for this, his body aches too much...

They pass through the admin office with Rig showing them the right door to take to an awkwardly skinny hallway that barely gives them room to stand two-by-two.

“Ugh,” Nick groans as he shoulders in behind the other two. “Who designed this architecture?”

“PITS didn’t pay a lot for the reno,” Rig mumbles, instinctively grabbing for Deacon’s hand only to remember what’s going on when Deacon pulls his hand away. “Rotundra’s at the end of the hall,” he says.

“Judging by the echoes, one of them should be ours,” Deacon says. “Keep up and watch for laser fire.”

_“Right,_ so _this_ is what kills me.” Rig “keeps up” for all that implies he _shouldn’t_ be literally on Deacon’s heels, but it’s okay, he’s fine, he’s panicking and likely to throw up, but he’s _fine._

They burst into the rotunda and the slam reverberates around the round room and up through the dome... Echo stands in the middle of bodies and carnage, rifle in hand and breathing heavy. She turns to look at them and grins.

“What took so long?” she asks.

Nick squeezes past Rig, pushing him into Deacon, and Echo hurries up to him and they pull each other into an embrace.

“What did I tell ya?” Deacon whispers at Rig. “Kissing a synth detective in a heat of passion after narrowly escaping death.”

“Ah,” Rig says. “You predicted the future.”

“It’s my psyker powers,” Deacon grins. He cups a hand around his mouth. “Heeey, lovebirds! You ready to leave the nest or what?”

Rig takes a deep breath, ears ringing and head spinning as he tries to focus on what’s going on but _nope,_ he is _not_ in a good state of person right this moment. He glances to the wall next to him, up at the “NOTABLE ALUMNI” painted high above. He sees a nearby picture frame and knocks it to the ground and stares at it as he tries to process what he did.

“Rig?” Deacon asks. He peers past Rig at the label where the frame was. The “A. Ray” and the now blank space in between the other photos. He knocks several more down before grabbing Rig’s arm and pulling him, as dazed and out of it as Rig is, towards the exit. “We ought to go now,” he reminds the other two.

Nick pulls away from Echo, cheeks tinged light blue. “Right— Right.”

“You hurt at all?” Echo whispers as they leave.

“Just a few loose screws,” Nick answers. “They weren’t exactly delicate bringing me here...” He frowns towards Rig and how silently he’s letting Deacon drag him away. _“Rig,_ however...”

“We’ll check you _both_ over soon as we get somewhere safe,” Echo says. She sends him a look when he starts to rebuttal. “Nick...” she warns.

Nick sighs. “Yes, _dear.”_

Echo shakes her head and smiles. “...Love you too.”

* * *

Rig is seconds past collapsing before they make it to Dogmeat. He falls to the ground just moments before and the others stare at him a moment before Deacon nudges him with his foot.

“You dead?” Deacon asks.

“Yeah,” Rig says. He looks up at Dogmeat walking up to him, and he flinches when the good, best boy licks his face. “Dogmeat, I love you so much, you’re the only man I could ever love.”

“Yeah, sure,” Nick mutters, and he smirks when Echo elbows him.

“Alright, draw straws,” Deacon says. “Which of us is carrying him?”

“You know I can’t,” Echo says. “And Nick is in no condition to.”

Deacon gives them an “are you serious” gesture.

“Yeah, absolutely no condition to.” Nick grabs his shoulder. “Screw got loose. Arm might fall off picking him up.”

_“Ugh, FINE.”_ Deacon pouts and then crouches down to scoop up Rig who blinks rapidly and wraps his arms around Deacon’s neck in a panic. “Relax, I’m not going to drop you.”

“Someone holding me dropped me on my face when I was a baby,” Rig says.

Deacon grins at him uncertainly. “And that’s why you’re afraid of being carried?”

“No, just got reminded of— of it...” Rig points at his lips before grabbing hold of Deacon again, slightly tighter than before. “Scar under my lip where I hit the counter. Two of my scars are counter related. Dangerous things, out to kill me.”

“You’re rambling,” Deacon turns towards the other two, discomfort on his face. “Guyyyyys, he’s _rambling.”_

“Oh, and you don’t?” Echo demands. “Just carry him until we find a safe place to rest.”

“Ughhhhhhhh,” Deacon moans again, but he carries Rig anyway until they find a run-down building to rest in. He lies Rig down and checks the cut on Rig’s arm. “Hmm. We’re going to have to amputate—”

“Ehhhhhhnnnnnnn,” Rig whines.

_“Fine,_ I guess you can keep your arm.” Deacon sighs and looks over at Echo busying herself checking over Nick. “Detective Valentine on the other hand. You keeping that arm intact?”

“We’re doing what we can to save it, Doctor Deeks,” Echo quips. “You check over your patient.”

“He got hit with an electroshock prod,” Nick says. _“Might_ want to check for damage.”

“Ohhh, _I_ see how it is,” Deacon frowns. He looks down at Rig. “Well, Rigbsy. Take off your shirt.”

“What?” Rig looks to Nick and Echo. “You mean just. Take off my shirt?”

“That is in fact that ‘take off your shirt’ means in this day and age,” Deacon says. “Fancy that, how language develops. You and your pre-war lingo.”

“But.” Rig shuffles back a little. “No.”

“It’s _just_ to make sure you’re okay,” Deacon says. “No need to be modest.”

“I— It’s— I mean...” Rig whines. “Iiiii don’t... want... to...”

“Alright, let’s work through this.” Deacon gestures at Rig. “Why not?”

Rig glances away, swaying a bit as he thinks it over. “You got me there.” He starts to take off his shirt while Deacon looks at the other two with a grin and a double-thumbs up to which Nick rolls his eyes and Echo probably does too. Rig sets both shirts aside and looks down at his chest, taking in a sharp breath. “Yikes, that’s... worse than I thought.”

Rig already knew to expect scarring, both centuries old and freshly minted, but actually _seeing_ it... Burn marks on his chest where the prod actually struck, and angry red spiderweb cracks growing from it.

“Huh.” Deacon leans closer. “Doesn’t look as bad as it could have been. No bruising, right?” He pokes Rig’s chest.

Rig squeaks and smacks Deacon’s hand away.

_“Sorry,_ sorry, just checking.”

“I want a new doctor.”

“Sorry, Dr. Gray is _busy.”_

Rig looks over at Echo and Nick to see Echo, with her sunglasses off for once, in the midst of helping Nick take off his shirt with the trench coat already tossed aside. Rig flinches and turns his head away, looking at absolutely _anything_ else.

“Pre-war modesty, at it’s finest,” Deacon chuckles. He clears his throat. “Soooo, you’re _not_ going to like this, bud, _buuuuuut...”_

Rig blinks and then shakes his head. “No— No, thank you, I’m good—”

Nick whips his head towards him. “They hit you _right_ over your _heart._ You’re lucky to even be _alive.”_

“And you might not _stay_ alive if we don’t get that fixed.” Deacon points a finger gun at Rig’s chest. “So. Stimpak. You don’t have to look. I’ll even let you hold my hand.”

“I hate.” Rig pauses to think over his next words. _“Absolutely_ **_everything_ ** about this.”

“That’s just how it is in the wastelands.” Deacon goes to their supplies. “You might want to go ahead and close your eyes.”

Rig covers his eyes with a hand and looks away. A moment later, he feels something brush against his hand and he grabs on instantly. He grimaces and waits and waits and _waits_ in nervous anticipation for it to be—

“Rig, I finished like a minute ago.”

Rig peeks an eye through his fingers. Oh... He looks down and sees Deacon’s hand turned red and pale from Rig’s tight hold. “...Oh.” He lets go and Deacon shakes his hand.

“Woof, tight grip, huh?” Deacon mumbles. “How you feeling, bud?”

Rig points at his shirts. “Can I get dressed now?”

“Aww, I thought we’d have a guys only shirtless party.” Deacon grins at Rig’s offended noise. “You can get dressed.”

Rig immediately pulls his shirts back on, sighing in relief once he has the comfort of his flamingo shirt on his body once more. Something soft brushes against his wrist, and he looks to see Dogmeat carrying a teddy bear for him to take. He smiles and accepts it and pats Dogmeat’s head before Dogmeat trots off to the corner to dance in a circle and lie down to rest. Rig’s hand brushes against his pants pocket and he slips out the two pieces of chalk he stole. He squints at it and then up at Nick. “You said that was the Institute.”

Nick glances away from Echo and at Rig. “I did.”

“But you told me they’re gone,” Rig reminds.

“...Well. We were wrong.”

Rig shifts to sit cross-legged and motions with the chalk. “So then, why did they bring us to the Sullivan Building? What did we do— What did they want with...?”

“They took Nick because they know he’s connected to _me,”_ Echo says. “They took you as collateral damage.”

Rig furrows his brow. “What did they want to do to you...?”

Echo takes a slow breath. “I... was the catalyst in taking down the Institute.” She looks up at him, large purple bags under her gray eyes. “I had help, but... I was their main threat and if they’re still around, they would want to get back at me.”

Rig stares for a moment and then looks out a broken window at the sun rising. Another night where none of them got sleep, huh...? He gets up.

“Woah, where you headin’ Rigster?” Deacon asks. “You ought to lie down.”

“No, no, shh...” Rig waves at him, not quite focused on anyone as he starts to pace. “Just— just... that _math_ I saw, it— it was familiar, I know I’ve... It was definitely something in the bio-engineering class, but less theoretical and more— you know how you said there’s— there’s— there’s blorganic synths, the thing that was bothering— bothering me was...”

“...Yeah?” Echo prompts.

“Why did they make them so _inefficiently?”_

The others fall silent as Rig starts to rattle off scientific theories and equations and centuries old research, words tumbling out of his mouth without him even seeming to realize. He lists off the ways the synths could have been made to maximize production and quality, even casting the chalk aside to pull out his journal and a pen to recreate the math he saw in Dr. Short’s classroom, until he gets to the part in the equation where the Institute had mistakenly written “74”. He freezes, suddenly conscious of how quiet it is, how tense the others are, small tells he’s suddenly hyper-aware of between clenched jaws and fists.

He shrinks in on himself and sits back down. “...Sorry.”

Deacon is the first to do something. Face neutral, deathly silent, he walks out. Rig’s eyes widen in fear and he turns towards Nick and Echo. Nick still shirtless and looking away from him. Echo staring at him, neutral save for some unrecognizable emotion in her eyes.

“Maybe you should find a room to sleep, Dan— Rig,” she corrects. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I...” Rig cringes and stands and shuffles off into the next room. In the privacy and loneliness of the room, he looks at his journal and the math written, he tears out the right half and then goes to tear out the left.

He stops himself and flips the page over to see what’s written there.

_Some days I just want to burn the world_ _  
_ _But I guess it’s already lived through that._ _  
_ _And if no hand of god with his 40 days of rain_ _  
_ _Or misguided man with their nuclear refrain_ _  
_ _Could end the world and clear it of malice and bad intentions,_ _  
_ _Then what use is there to a burning ire_ _  
_ _When others I know help ease that fire._  
_A lover, an echo, and a liar_ _  
For them, I won’t burn, but instead aim higher_

He tears out the page. Crumples both sheets. Drops both them and the journal to the ground. He finds the flattest surface farthest away from the door and lies down to stare at the wall and try not to cry.

And he had to leave the teddy bear in the other room too.

Gosh _darnit._


	9. We've Got it All: Nightmares, Mature Conversations, Lots of Poetry, a Mongoose...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a talk about what the heck Rig said. And then they're homeward bound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan (mentioned) is Glow's OC.

_“Tell me why you have a problem with your brother.”_

_He stares at the doctors in their white coats and judging expressions. He hasn’t even spoken yet and he already feels small in their eyes. Already feels silenced but_ **_no._ ** _Not after what his brother has done._

_“He’s hurt me,” he starts. “He’s hit me for not doing what he wants. And when that stopped working, he threatened to hurt himself if he didn’t get his way. He’s broken my things. Tried to kick in my door when I tried to hide from him. And my parents won’t do anything about it. They’re afraid of him, but they won’t send him away. They care more about keeping him happy than keeping me safe.”_

_The doctors laugh._

_“And isn’t that your fault?” one asks._

_“If you didn’t let it bother you, then you wouldn’t be upset about it,” the other adds. “If you would just do what he wants, he wouldn’t hurt you.”_

_“He’s gone into my room,” he argues. “I sometimes find him hiding in my closet or lying on my bed in the dark. He refuses to move! Refuses to leave! Doesn’t even tell me what he wants! I can’t sleep knowing he might go into my room in the middle of the night!”_

_“You’re just looking for an excuse to complain,” the first doctor says._

_“Stop it!” he shouts. “He messes with my things and reads my private files without permission! He physically forces me away to read things I don’t want to show him!”_

_“Why aren’t you moving before he has to push you?”_

_“He makes me hug him when I want nothing to do with him!” He’s on the verge of tears. Everything feels blue and hazy. This isn’t fair. This isn’t_ **_fair._ ** _“He doesn’t let me go when I want him to. He pulls my hair. He’s beaten me up. Why won’t you LISTEN?!”_

He shouts as he pushes himself up suddenly. He breathes heavily, still on his side, and looks around to remember his location and situation... His brother is gone. Far, far away and long, long dead. Just another stressful dream from stress and misery... Still, after all this time, after running away from his family... And yet he still can’t escape this.

Rig grimaces and shifts to sit up, and something falls to the ground off his make-shift bed. He looks over to see his journal on the ground, pages fanned and standing like a tent... and he sees Nick holding Echo and the two of them staring at him—or so he assumes with Echo’s sunglasses back on. Maybe she’s asleep? But either way, Rig winces and looks away. He gets up to grab his journal and grab a pen and then sits down again to doodle spirals on a blank page. He doesn’t want to think.

“Bad dream?” Nick asks.

“...Yeah,” he mutters.

Nick tilts his head. “Now, I may be a synth, but my hearing isn’t _that_ good. You need to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Happens when I’m stressed,” he says.

Nick frowns. “That so...?”

“Yester... day?” He glances up and Nick shrugs. “Uh... was— was bad. I don’t... know what— what I... I said something wrong and I feel like you’re all mad at me now...”

“Not mad,” Echo says. So she _is_ awake... “But not exactly _happy_ either.”

Rig winces. “I... wasn’t stable...” He glances at the nearby window, trying to judge the time. “It’s... daytime.”

“About 3 PM,” Echo says. “You slept all morning.”

“I don’t feel rested,” Rig frowns.

“That’s what stress dreams do,” she counters. She climbs out of Nick’s lap. “I’ll be right back with lunch.”

“...Not hungry,” Rig mumbles, but she’s already in the other room. He glances around and then at Nick who is still watching him intently. He winces. “Where’s... Where’s Deacon?”

“He came back after you went to bed,” Nick says coolly. “Said he’d split off for a bit and come back later. Of course, later might mean anywhere from this evening to next month.”

Rig winces. “O— Oh...”

Echo returns with some food and carries it over to Rig. “Here.”

Rig looks at the plate and then shakes his head. “Not hungry.”

“Rigsby, I’m not having this argument.” She shoves it at him. “You need to eat.”

Rig leans away. “No.”

_“Rig.”_ Echo’s tone turns serious. “Just eat.”

“No,” Rig says again, mentally cringing when his tone sounds harsh even to himself. He doesn’t want to make her upset, but he really doesn’t want to eat. She pushes the food at him again and he grabs her hand to push it away. “No, I—” He glances at her face and sees a faint glow from under her glasses. A glow that definitely wasn’t in her eyes the night before. He hears Nick stand a bit too quickly for this to be something Rig should be okay with. “Heck—” He lets go of Echo’s hand and scrambles away, falling off his “bed” onto the ground on the other side. “Ow—” He breathes in sharply and then pushes himself up, holding his head as it aches and vertigo threatens to send him groundward again. “S— Sorry, I don’t... I didn’t... I’m _sorry,_ I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”

“It’s... fine,” Echo says. She sets down the food. “You’re not leaving this room until you eat.” At his flinch, she clears her throat. “This isn’t a punishment, Rigster. We just need you to take care of yourself and eat, okay?”

He nods and sits down once more. He doesn’t touch the food and instead stares at it.

Echo sighs. She walks away and dives into the next room. Nick looks between Rig and the way Echo left. He follows after Echo.

Rig sighs and looks to the window again. ...Sun must have shifted. There’s a weird shadow that wasn’t there before...

He ignores it and looks down at his journal and decides to jot down more poems...

* * *

_Voices just outside the door, talking in terms he knew years ago. Synth production, how the Institute did it wrong, how they should do it better, “did you see the report?” and “left it in the Dr. Short room” and “aw, but that’s where we put the hostages. We’ll get it later.” before they fade away._

_“Sullivan Building,” he mutters, his consciousness returning with the reveal that he’s in too much pain to move. “Took us to— Sullivan Building... Why...?” He takes a breath and tries moving anyway. He crawls onto his knees and uses the floor cabinet to help him up... He jolts at the pain on his chest and he falls and hits the corner of a counter as he collapses, leaving a cut on his right arm and drawing a pained wince._

_He breathes for a second before he can push past the pain. “Nick?” he asks glancing to the body on the ground nearby, but Nick isn’t moving... He tries getting up again, more careful this time. He notices something on the counter. What is...? Some fancy screen in a dirty white casing... sleek and once pretty..._

_“Synth production,” he mumbles, reaching for the screen. He barely taps it before the screen lights up._

**_An Improvement on the Institute’s Design_ **

**_Proposed by Pits satellite campus scientists_ **

**_[Proposal Denied]_ **

_He glances at Nick and then back to the report with a rising panic. He taps the screen and then tries swiping, and he makes it to the next page with an introduction of everything wrong with current synth design. Diagrams, terms he knows, processes he agrees could be done better if they instead used—_

_He sees the first line of the following proposal. Spies “Ray” and “113” in the same sentence and doesn’t read the rest. He picks up the screen, opens a cabinet, and throws the screen with a CRACK into the back of said cabinet, never to be seen again. He hurries over and falls to his knees at Nick’s side to shake him awake. “Nick...? Uh... Shoot... Nick?”_

* * *

Dogmeat lies across Echo and Nick’s laps as they sit on the couch, letting Echo pet him as she whispers the echo she just got to Nick.

“So that’s how he knows they were making them ‘inefficiently’,” she whispers.

“Why _would_ they leave that out?” Nick asks. “And in an off-campus PITS building? It’s like they were baiting us to read it.” He sighs. “I understand Deacon’s concern. Shit, _I’m_ still uneasy about how he said all that. Which is the real Rig Miller? The man who unconditionally thinks synths are people and that Mr. Handy limiters are unethical, or the man who would rant about how to improve an unethical experiment on a moment’s notice?”

Echo furrows her brow. “I suppose we have to find out somehow. And I promised him a _talk.”_

Rig appears in the doorway. “Um—”

“Did you finish eating?” Echo asks.

“Almost,” Rig shrugs. “What rhymes with future?”

“Suture,” Nick says.

Rig hums and then nods. “Perfect, thank you.” He disappears out of sight again.

“You better actually be eating,” Echo calls after him.

“I am!” Rig calls back. A couple of minutes pass, and Rig appears in the doorway again. “Am I still in time-out?”

“I already said it wasn’t a punishment,” Echo says.

“Nnnnnnn,” Rig grimaces. “Felt like one...”

Echo shakes her head. “You’re not in time-out, but you _do_ have to talk with us about that _thing_ from earlier...”

“Does Deacon hate me?” Rig asks. “Is that why he’s not here?”

“If he does, that’s for him to tell you,” Echo sighs. “Now about that thing you said this morning...”

“Mmmmm.” Rig leans against the doorframe. “We— We’re being adults and talking about it? That’s a thing we’re doing?”

“You have another idea how to handle this?” Nick frowns.

Rig winces. “I... That’s not— I don’t mean it like that. It’s— People. Talking. _Things._ Is— Is hard, that’s all...” He folds his hands in front of his face and then gestures. “Iiiiii don’t know what the problem is, but I know it... isn’t good. If— If it...” He motions at the door Deacon left through that morning. “...Yeah.” He shuffles in and takes a seat across from them. “I... don’t want to... hurt anyone.” He looks up at them and flinches at their stares. “I don’t want to _help_ the Institute. I was. Trying to— to figure out what they were trying to— That’s— That’s how I process science things. I never had to... I hadn’t done it in years. Didn’t realize I still had that habit. PITS was... just as bad. As CIT. It’s been— uh... _years_ and I... haven’t unlearned all the bad, terrible things...”

Nick rubs his forehead. “You were trying to process it by listing off how they could make synths _more efficiently?”_

“That’s how I _talk,”_ Rig whines. “You know this. I just say things without thinking—”

“Well you’ve got to stop that,” Echo frowns. “It’s gotten you in trouble several times already. Maybe you could have gotten away with it before the war, but in the here and now, you need to _think_ about what you say.”

Rig flinches and looks away. “Do— Do I need to go? Should— I mean... You don’t need to do this... case thing. If— I don’t know what kind of thing I’ll mess up next. I don’t... I don’t want any of you to get hurt. I don’t even know why Deacon chose to help me in the first place...” He looks up at them. “I don’t... It’s not that I want the Institute to improve how they make synths. I was— trying to say how they’re trying to improve it and that it might be a problem and— and figure out how that math connects. That’s _all._ I didn’t mean to rant like that. I don’t _want_ to rant like that. I quit that kind of thing for a _reason.”_

Echo looks down at Dogmeat who boofs and hops down for their laps to go over and rest his head in Rig’s lap. Rig smiles and Echo frowns. “Rig,” she says, and Rig looks up in concern. “How much schooling did you _actually_ do before quitting? Don’t lie to me this time. I know you weren’t being honest in Diamond City, but if it’s going to be a _problem...”_

Rig winces. “I— Um...” He pets Dogmeat for comfort, and Dogmeat tries to crawl into his lap. He lowers himself to the floor and lets Dogmeat provide a comfortable weight on him. “I... was four years into getting my doctorate.”

“What the _hell,_ Rig?” Nick demands.

“I didn’t want to admit it,” Rig groans. “I worked _so hard_ and threw it all away. I still— I’ve been _shamed_ for it enough to still have it in my head that it’s a bad thing that I was _so close_ to getting a PhD and being the so-called best scientist to ever come out of PITS. That— That it’s bad I didn’t stay a scientist and tossed it aside to be a poet.” He waves his hands frantically. _“And I wasn’t even a good poet._ I was a sell-out, washed-up, broken down— But I quit for a _reason._ It wasn’t— There were so many ethics things I was not comfortable with and it was either I left or get it even _more_ ingrained to just. Look them over.”

Echo rubs the sides of her head. “Right... _Right._ Of course you— But you’re _not_ a scientist.”

“I...” Rig shakes his head. “Quit years ago. Soon as I dropped out, I quit, and I only ever looked back from a safe distance. If— If I had stayed... I don’t know. I don’t know where I’d be. Dead, probably, by now. But if I had stayed for that research project... I— I was close to figuring something out. _Very_ close.” He grimaces. “S’was. Bad. Thing I was doing. I don’t want to talk about it. It could have hurt a lot of people if I didn’t quit and instead followed through with it. If I had handed off my research to any of the people who asked for them to follow through with it. I had that foresight at least. To— To quit and burn the evidence. Trace taught me that much.”

“Okay,” Nick says. _“Alright.”_ He gets up to move to the window to smoke. “So. You’re saying the reason you ranted was out of habit?”

Rig nods. “Yeah, more or less. It was... Also wasn’t stable. No sleep, lots of stress. Was out of it and not— not focusing on what I was doing. Saying stuff without thinking.”

“But you’re saying you knew this stuff because of your past education.”

Rig shrugs. “Mostly. I don’t know how applicable it would have been. Couple centuries difference— my stuff could have been outdated.” Rig looks down when Dogmeat ruffs at him, and he reaches down to pet him again. “I brought it up because... it was worrying me. That they have that opportunity. That they’re trying...”

“They’re trying...?” Echo prompts.

Rig looks up. “The— The math? There was math. Wrong math, but it was... Not good. They’re using it for something and— And I was trying to see if there was connection between it and improving synth creation. Since— Since that seems to be— Seems to be something you’re worried about so, I...” He winces. “I was trying to help. Just... Said it badly...”

Echo leans forward. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

Rig blinks. “Did— Did I?”

“...You don’t remember?” Nick asks. “What were you doing before you woke me up?”

“Lying in pain,” Rig says. “Banged my arm on a counter trying to get up.” He points at his right arm. “That makes three counter related injuries in my lifetime. I don’t remember— Oh, wait.” He tilts his head and squints. “I— I saw a proposition about synth production that... implied someone at— at Pits wants to do something about something, but... Don’t remember the details. Slept since then.”

“You saw your name.” Echo tilts her head to look down at him. “And your vault number.”

“...What makes you say that?” Rig furrows his brow. “I threw it in a cabinet. Nick never saw it. How would you know what I potentially saw but don’t remember?”

Echo hesitates, chewing her lip as she thinks it over. She looks at Nick and his worried expression and then back Rig. “You know how you’ve told us secrets about yourself...? I have one about me, but I want to make sure I can trust you...”

Rig sits straight, eyes wide. “You don’t— You don’t have to tell me.” He shakes his head. “No, no— If it’s secret, I... I don’t want you to put yourself in danger. I don’t need to know— Is it that eye thing from...?”

“Well—”

“Then you don’t need to tell me,” Rig says. “Just— Just tell me what I need to... not do so it doesn’t happen or hurt you.”

“Rig—”

“I don’t— know if I can keep it secret,” Rig admits, curling up a little. “I don’t even know how to keep my own secrets anymore. You don’t need to—”

“Alright, alright,” Echo sighs. “Just... try to avoid physical contact with me, okay...? That’s all I’ll say.”

Rig nods. “O— Okay...”

“...Really?” Nick demands. “You trust us enough that you’d let us keep secrets while you pour your heart out to us? What kind of person are you?”

Rig shakes his head. “I’m a perfect stranger that you know too well. Warning bells and empty shells... You’ve known me for only a few days. I’m... Slowly waking up after sleeping two hundred years. But not back to normal yet. You— You know more about me than anyone else here, but... Not even I know everything about how I tick or tock or how I beat the clock.” He looks down at his chest and runs his fingers over the burn marks in his shirt. “I... should have died, shouldn’t I?”

Nick winces. “Rig, no, you’re better off alive than—” He stops and lowers his gaze to Rig’s chest. “...Yeah,” he admits. “You should have died. How did you _not?”_

Rig furrows his brow. “Is... that what... Vault-Tec did to me...? Why I lived for so long...? Is...?” He pokes a finger through his shirt. “Are... stimpaks s’posed to be painless?”

“Not really,” Echo frowns. “That big a needle?” She pauses to let Rig flinch. “Yeah, no, if you didn’t feel it, either you were numb where Deacon stabbed you, or something else is up...” She sighs and stands. “Maybe we should prioritize finding Vault 113. It’d be easier with Deacon around, but... _Ugh,_ I don’t exactly want to _go_ there...”

Rig looks out the window. “So if the Sullivan Building is _that_ way,” he points. “And Sunnbill is _that_ way,” he points another direction. “Then... I think I...”

“Yeah?” Nick asks.

“I think I know how to find my house from here.”

* * *

The walk to find Bird Meadows is much more silent than their previous walks. Rig’s not too fond of leading the way either, but he’s the one that supposedly knows where he’s going. It’s silent, Rig is nervous and can’t see the others to tell what they’re feeling. He can only see Dogmeat running around and the occasional landmark leading him where he wants to go. If anyone wanted to sneak up on him, now’s a good time to do it, and the silence is weighty and slowing him down.... He needs to say _something._

“Um...” He glances back at Echo and then looks forward again. “Who’s... Dan...?”

“What?” Echo asks.

“When— When I said stupid things earlier that made you mad,” Rig says. “You almost called me Dan. Who’s Dan?”

“Oh,” Echo says. “He’s... One of my friends. He’s good with technology, but a bit bad with morals and ethics sometimes. Forgets to sleep too...”

“...Huh.” Rig glances back, a bit curious. “So... I was... bad morals, then.”

“Just don’t do that again, okay?” Echo asks. “I don’t need two Dans in my life.”

“I wouldn’t be a Dan,” Rig says. “I like being a Rig. S’cooler...” He frowns. “Is... Dan a... good person?”

“...He’s my friend,” Echo asks.

“But not a good person,” Rig surmises.

“He... has his moments,” Echo sighs. “Don’t worry about it.”

Rig opens his mouth to say more but then closes it and simply keeps walking. Things start looking familiar as much as they look different, just like everything else, just like the entire world he knows...

They make it to a community with a rusting sign reading “Bird Meadows.” Rig Miller is coming home at long last.

He swallows and steps into the community in search of what he hopes is left of his house and forgotten belongings... He counts the plots and identical houses until...

“...This is it,” he whispers. His head spins seeing the door still open from when he ran out when the bombs fell.

_No time to wait, he has to hope Rig will be at the vault. He grabs the bags they keep at the door just for this and he hurries out the door and runs._

_Fast, loud, scary— too much of all of it._

_“Follow the tracks to freedom,” he sings on heavy breaths._

_Vault 113. Down by the railroad tracks._

_The Railroaders would be proud._

“I’m... afraid,” he admits. “I’m scared. I don’t want to do this.” Rig rubs the base of his palm into his eye and tries not to cry. “If I hadn’t woken up— I— I can’t go in.”

“Is it that you can’t or that you don’t want to?” Nick asks.

_“Yes!”_ Rig answers, voice high and about to start crying.

Nick sighs. He places a hand on Rig’s shoulder. “Look, kid. If you really don’t want to, we won’t make you. We’ll have you wait out here with Dogmeat. _But_ keep in mind that you don’t know if you’ll have another chance at this. If there’s anything you need to do here, this may be your only chance. Otherwise you might be leaving everything behind.”

“It’s not the first time,” Rig mumbles, sniffling as he looks away. He lowers himself to sit on the concrete, cross-legged and with his head in his hands.

Nick looks to Echo who sighs and whistles for Dogmeat to stop exploring and come back.

“Dogmeat, babysit Rig,” Echo says.

Rig doesn’t argue the term or the fact his babysitter is a dog.

Echo frowns and leads the way into the house. Her eyes dimly glow as she walks through, instantly hit with an echo... The sound of keys clinking as they hit their tray by the front door, the call of _“Honeypie, I’m home!”_ and Rig—their Rig—calling back _“Dinner will be ready soon!”_

“So,” Nick says as he looks around the living room and spots a broken frame with what looks like a poem in it. “You notice anyone following us?” He picks up the frame and digs the poem out from it and skims over it.

Echo snorts. “Going to split-off, he says. At least we know he’ll keep an eye on Rig so it’s not just Dogmeat babysitting him.”

“Those two could do each other a world of good,” Nick scoffs. “A liar and a poet who overshares. What was that comment about Deacon making it easier to find 113 from earlier?”

“He’s _been_ there.”

“...God dammit, he _did_ already know Rig’s identity.” Nick holds up the poem for Echo to see. “So, looks like not all of Ray’s pre-war poems are ‘sunny and saccharine.’ If this is the kind of thing he was publishing instead, I think the original Nick might have been a fan.”

Echo glances over the poem.

_if the chaos brought to light_ _  
_ _would not seek fortune in the favor of advancing malice,_ _  
_ _then who are we to say all that is chaos isn't right_ _  
_ _when to fall, one may not be pushed but rather slip._ _  
_ _it's not chaos that is unjust,_ _  
_ _though wild and untamed it may be,_ _  
_ _but rather the spirit of those one should not trust,_ _  
_ _for harm intended is a wicked effect of greed._ _  
_ _chaos merely means an entropic state_ _  
_ _where things happen as if by the random chance of fate,_ _  
_ _where a beam well worn by time caves in the roof it holds,_ _  
_ _where at its seams, the fabric rips, and quilted stories go untold._

“Huh,” Echo hums. “Not bad. You’re going to give that to him?”

Nick smirks. “No, I think I’ll hold onto it. Save it for a special occasion.”

Echo smiles and shakes her head. “Sure.” She walks further into the house, getting more small flashes and sounds of Rig’s life before... “They were really happy,” she says. “Rig and... Rig.” She looks at a set of doors in front of her. One with a sun painted on it, two unlabelled... She picks one of the unlabelled doors and walks into a bedroom/office with a terminal still glowing after all these years. Next to the terminal is a picture frame...

“Hey, Nick,” she calls as she walks up to the photo. Two men, one blond and dressed in a polo, the other dark-haired and clean shaven, both smiling at the camera. She picks it up. “Is this...?”

_The man finishes putting the photo in the best picture frame he could find. He flips it over and smiles, soft and fond and so hopeful for their future... He rubs the dark-haired man’s face in the photo with his thumb. “One day,” he mutters._

“...the original Rig?” Echo holds the photo for Nick to see.

Nick hums. “Yep, looks like him... That other man, though... Who is he...?”

Echo looks at the photo. “No clue. It can’t be our Rig. This man has no flamingo shirt and is too clean.”

Nick nods. “It’s clearly an imposter. _Or_ I was right and Rig is a synth.”

Echo snorts and sets the photo back. “Keep telling yourself that, bud.” She moves to the terminal and goes to hack it. “Alright, Miller, let’s see what you have here...”

...The password is Hyacinth. _Interesting..._

She gets to the main screen and goes through the entries, one by one.

> _Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink_
> 
> _Rigatoni Milleroni_
> 
> **New Roommate** **  
> ** **Mr Handy** **  
> ** **Weird rumors** **  
> ** **Vault Raffle** **  
> ** **I’ve had enough**
> 
> **New Roommate**
> 
> I’m in love. Ricki introduced me to this wonderful freeloader she’s housing and I already adore him. Clever and wild, with just as weird a name as I have. Apollo Ray, what a god. Not only that, but he’s willing to do cooking and cleaning in lieu of paying rent! That’s enough reason to love anyone. So I have a new roommate, I guess. Good thing Parsons pays well.
> 
> August 2073
> 
> **Mr Handy**
> 
> Brought Apollo with me to Parsons again a few days ago. A client had brought in their Mr. Handy for repairs and Apollo seemed interested in it, talking with the reprogrammer, Noland, about how they work. Got me thinking. Apollo does a good job with the cooking and cleaning and everything, but he could really use a hand, pun intended. And a Mr. Handy isn’t too expensive. But when I tried asking him if he wanted one, he said they make him nervous, even when I reminded him that we could get one without a buzzsaw. I guess the pointy claw hands set off his phobia too? Either way, I made up a lie about it being cheaper not to get one so he didn’t feel bad about saying no. I just want him to be happy.
> 
> December 2076
> 
> **Weird rumors**
> 
> I’ve been hearing rumors of a “Rig Miller” committing crimes around the area. It’s not like I have a common name. Police even came to my door to ask about me while I was gone, but luckily Apollo had been writing all night and had been asleep when they showed up. Don’t want him knowing anything about this... Ricki had been on her way to check on Apollo and found out a bit of what’s going on. We think someone saw my name in the phone book and is being an asshole attaching it to crimes since it’s such a good “crook” name. Hopefully they get bored of it soon.
> 
> January 2077
> 
> **Vault Raffle**
> 
> If there’s one crime I’m willing to commit and live up to my name, it’s rigging the Parsons vault raffle to get Apollo and me spaces in Vault 113. And why shouldn’t I? If bombs fall and we only have seconds to get to the vault, the tickets might as well go to someone living close enough to get there in time. And Noland isn’t the only programmer here, so rigging the raffle is easy. Just a simple line of code to take into consideration the ticket owner’s location relative to Vault 113. Prioritize those living in close proximity. This should net both my tickets to win. No one else lives as close as we do. Anything to help make sure Apollo and I survive together. Now if only whoever the hell is using my name to commit actual, serious crimes would stop. It’s been going on all year and it’s getting harder to keep it from Apollo when the police are staking out our house all the time. Weirdly, I sometimes see two unmarked cars at the same time. That just seems like overkill.
> 
> August 2077
> 
> **I’ve Had Enough**
> 
> Pleasantview PD is about to arrest me for several charges for things I had no part in, I’m sure of it. I hate this. They won’t believe me that someone must be using my name. Who the hell bases a criminal investigation on someone’s name alone? Whoever is doing this must be paying them off. I can’t keep it from Apollo for much longer, and the authorities aren’t helping out. I’m meeting with Ricki and we’re going to get to the bottom of this ourselves. Apollo, if you read this before I get back, just know I always wanted the best for you and don’t read that letter I left in your vault luggage until I’m there with you. I’ll be back as soon as I murder this son of a bitch. Look at this mess. I’m packing a goddamn gun. See you when I get home, Apollo.
> 
> September 2077

“God dammit,” Nick mutters from behind her.

“What?” Echo asks.

“I was hoping that _was_ a pen name, not his _actual_ name.” He rolls his eyes. “He really was nineteen when he picked it.”

Echo giggles. “Nick!”

_“But,”_ Nick says. “That last entry. He was going after who framed him, but was this before or after whatever happened to Lady’s sister?”

“You think he could have killed Lady’s sister?” Echo asks. She frowns. “But he was using a gun, not a knife... Stab wounds...”

“But at least we know where he disappeared to,” Nick says. “As for where he went after...” Nick frowns and looks around the room for more clues. “So, I’d like Deacon’s input too, but... What’s the verdict on Rig? Are we keeping him?”

“Institute is after Apollo Ray,” Echo says as she searches the other half of the room.

“Oh.” Nick hums in annoyance. “Good thing we don’t know an Apollo and just his roommate Rig Miller.”

“Right?” Echo groans. “But... Scientist or not, I don’t think he _means_ harm. There’s definitely some tall shadows he’s leaving with his sunshine, some dark spots he has to unlearn...”

“Not surprised.” Nick skims over the books on a nearby shelf. “Hate to admit it, but if PITS _was_ like CIT, to say nothing of whatever unethical pre-war corporation he was saddled working with, then that’s just a toxic community that probably helped mess him up. Especially if he joined it at 18 and never had a break from it if he never went back to his family. Adding in the Railroaders and anything Transparency did...”

“So we aren’t forgiving him,” Echo says. “But we’re understanding why he did that and making sure he doesn’t do it again. But also being more cautious around him.”

“Sounds good,” Nick hums. “But getting Deacon on board—”

There’s a knock on the window.

“...Speaking of,” Echo says, turning to face the window to see Deacon, in a new wastelander disguise, and his frantic pointing towards the front of the house and look of extreme “guys do something I’m not supposed to be here”.

“Shit,” Nick curses, grabbing a book off the shelf as he hurries out the door with Echo following.

They make it out to the front to find Rig on his feet, hands raised in defense, and Dogmeat growling protectively in front of him at a ghoul woman dressed in leather and with a well-kept red wig and a rifle in her hand standing a safe distance away.

“Look,” the woman says. “I just want to know what the _hell_ you’re doing at this house. I’m not going to hurt you unless you try something, so call off your guard dog.”

“He’s not _mine,”_ Rig insists. “I don’t control him.”

The woman sighs. “You’re useless.” She glances to see Nick and Echo in the doorway. “Hey!” she shouts. “What were you two doing in there, huh? You have something to do with those rumors I’ve been hearing about a Rig Miller in the wastes?”

Nick holds his hands up in peace as he cautiously walks forward. “Ma’am, it’s alright. I’m Detective Nick Valentine, and this is my partner, Detective Gray.”

Echo nods as she stops next to Dogmeat. “Ma’am,” she greets. She whistles and Dogmeat sits, still angry but less likely to attack. She turns towards the woman. “We’re on a case for our client, here,” she says, motioning to Rig who flinches. “To prove Rig Miller was framed for murder.”

“Of fucking course he was,” the woman scowls. “You think a computer geek from 2077 would have the balls to kill someone?”

“I mean, I know I don’t,” Rig mutters, and he smiles nervously at Echo’s incredulous look.

The woman narrows her eyes at Rig. “And what’s your client have to do Miller? Some idiot in a flamingo shirt of all things? How would he know about some pre-war nerd?

“How would you?” Nick asks. “What’s your relation to Mr. Miller? Who even are you?”

The woman huffs up. “Call me Mongoose. Rig Miller was a pal of mine. Started hearing rumors about some Angels group paying for info about Miller and found that suspicious as fuck considering things. Figured I’d keep an eye on Miller’s old place in case someone started snooping, and _look what I found.”_

“Mongoose is a nice name,” Rig chimes. “Very bitey. Tough.”

“Don’t try flattering me,” Mongoose growls. “I’ve given you enough answers, now tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”

“I already did tell you,” Echo says. “Our client—”

“Who the fuck is your client?” Mongoose demands. “I want a _name._ If this is a fucking synth—”

Nick stands talls and scowls. “And what’s wrong with _synths?”_

Rig wrinkles his nose. “I don’t fu— I don’t do _that_ thing anyway.”

Mongoose sends him an incredulous look this time and then face palms. “Good lord, this idiot _is_ just like—”

“You— You have nice hair,” Rig says.

Mongoose glares. “I said not to flatter me, asshole.”

“Red,” Rig says. “Red, radiant, refined.”

Mongoose lifts her gun and Nick and Echo have theirs out in an instant. “How the hell do you know _that_ specific phrase, huh? Where did you learn that from?”

Rig falters back and stammers. “I— I— It’s what I used to— What I’d say to Ricki about her—” He stops and then wrinkles his nose. “...Rikki Tikki Tavi? Is that— That’s how you got the name Mongoose?”

Mongoose lowers her gun, but barely. “Do I... know you...?”

Echo furrows her brow. “You’re Ricki? From the Middlesex Railroaders...?”

Mongoose flinches. “You— How do you know about the Railroaders? How do you—?” She lowers her gun and looks at Rig. “...Hey, kid. If you know me, where did we meet?”

“...Boston,” Rig says. He glances to Nick and Echo for permission to continue. “2062. I was nineteen. Hair too long. Went to a hair par— salon. You were there with your sister—”

Mongoose nods. “Vicky.”

“Victoria,” Rig corrects.

Mongoose flashes a grin. “Sweet baby boy, it _is_ you. There’s no way— Not even the Institute could make such a perfect copy of you. Apo—”

“Rig Miller,” Echo interjects.

Mongoose blinks. “...Oh, sweetie, is that what started the...? Ugh, baby, why do you do this to yourself?” She frowns. “More than that, how did you survive? Looking like _that?_ Everyone else I knew who survived either looks more like me or... ain’t around anymore...”

Rig frowns. “So... Victoria isn’t...?” His eyes widen and fill up with tears. “Wait— wait, wait, _you’re ALIVE?!_ You’re actually alive! I’m not alone!”

Nick rolls his eyes. “What does that make us? Ghosts?”

“Oh, baby—” Mongoose sets her gun on the ground and holds out her arms. “Here, come here, baby child.”

Rig rushes over before the others can stop him, and he pulls Mongoose into a hug.

“Hey, mind the merch,” Mongoose laughs. “Ugh, look at you.” She holds Rig at arm’s length. “You’re a mess, boy-o. How the hell did you...?”

“Slept the entire time,” Rig says.

“That makes no sense, love.”

“I know,” Rig sighs. “We’re working on it. On— On figuring it out...” He frowns. “There was this ghoul named Lady who said... Uh, well... Murdered her sister...”

Mongoose frowns. “And you did the stupid thing of wanting to prove that didn’t happen instead of admitting your name.”

“Ehhhhhnnnn???” He shrugs helplessly. “Do— Do you know what happened? How did you survive? Everything’s been so— so weird and scary and I don’t know what’s going on but Mirelurks are cool and I’d love to be killed by one if I had to pick a way to die—”

“Aren’t you _allergic_ to crab?” Mongoose demands. “Darling, don’t be getting anywhere near those things. You have less survival skills than a baby radstag.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Rig groans.

“Want to find out?” Mongoose asks. She looks past Rig at Nick and Echo. “Alright, if you got ‘Rig’ this far without letting him die, I’m trusting you for now. I have a camp set up a little ways down and some radstag I’m cooking for dinner we can share. If you want to tell your other friend in sunglasses to stop hiding and join us, maybe we can have a more civil conversation about what the fuck is fuckening.”

Rig brightens. “Deacon’s here?”

Mongoose blinks at him. “You— Huh.”

Echo sighs. “Alright, Deacon, the gig is up. You just can’t stay away, we know this.”

Deacon steps out from behind the side of Rig’s house. “Who’s Deacon? My name is Frank.”

“Nice to meet you Frank,” Rig says. “I’m Lee. _Frankly,_ glad to see you.”

Mongoose laughs. “Oh, witty and pretty and gay as ever, Rigley.”

“Rig _Lee,”_ Rig quips.

“Yeah, yeah, I did that on purpose, nerdbait.” She bends down to pick up her gun again and then slings an arm around Rig’s shoulders. “Alright, buddy, this way. Hey, you write any more poems lately?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you them later,” Rig says. “They’re a lot better now.”

“I would hope so, after 212 years.”

“Right? If only I could have procticed all that— Heck.”

“Still can’t talk, still can’t swear a cuss.” Mongoose chuckles. “Yep, no way you could be a synth, dearheart.”

Echo sighs and whistles. “Come on, Dogmeat.” She and Dogmeat follow after Mongoose and Rig.

Deacon slips up beside Nick. “Soooo,” he says. “So much for teaching Rigsby _not_ to trust every face he sees.”

Nick scoffs. “That’s what we get for letting the first person he trusted be a compulsive _liar.”_

“You say that like he isn’t one too,” Deacon frowns.

“At least _he’s_ honest about it.”

“Funny.” Deacon watches the other walk away and shakes his head. “We don’t know what that _project_ he was doing he’s so ashamed about is.”

“I bet that’s killing you,” Nick comments. “No notes about it in his house when you went snooping there before?”

Deacon winces. “How did you—? You guessed.”

“I guessed,” Nick replies. “You _do_ know he seems to be willing to tell us anything if we ask. He trusts us enough for whatever goddamn reason. He told us things that could have gotten him killed in the past...” He frowns. “That still might if he’s not careful.”

Deacon groans. “I really don’t get this guy. You know how frustrating it is, being the guy who knows everything about everyone, and yet this idiot comes along and not only do I not know everything about him or what the hell he’ll say next, but he _trusts me?_ Seriously? _Me,_ of all people? He doesn’t know anything about me.”

Nick gives him a look. “Do you want him to?”

Deacon’s lips thin. “Let’s just go. Before they run out of radstag.”

“I don’t eat.”

“More for the rest of us then.”

* * *

Mongoose divvies out the radstag to all the humans and to Dogmeat and sits down next to Rig with her share. “These bastards keeping you fed, sweetheart?”

Rig looks from his food to Echo. “Uhhhh...”

“He doesn’t like eating,” Echo sighs. “It’s not that we aren’t trying, it’s that getting him to eat when we hand him food...”

Deacon grins. “Clearly my greatest accomplishment was feeding him _bloodbug_ as his first taste of wasteland gourmet.”

“Oh, is _that_ what you did?” Nick scoffs. “No wonder he doesn’t want to eat after that.”

Mongoose laughs. “That would do it.” She nudges Rig. “The radstag is safe, baby boy. Just imagine a deer, but mutated.”

“Ah,” Rig nods. “A mutated deer.”

“Learns quick, don’t he?” Mongoose grins at Echo.

“Not quick enough,” Echo frowns. “We’re trying to teach him _not_ to trust everyone he meets?”

Rig pouts. “But it’s _Ricki.”_

“Mongoose,” Mongoose corrects.

“But it’s _Mongoose,”_ Rig corrects himself. “She helped me a lot. She’s good people.”

“Mm.” Mongoose shakes her head. “No, your companions are right, honeypie. Don’t be trusting everyone. You got lucky with me, but I don’t know enough about these three to know if you should be palling around with them so much.” She glares at Deacon. _“Frank_ especially.”

Deacon talks around a mouthful of radstag meat. “Wha I do?”

“Anyway,” Mongoose says. “So you’re going by Rig Miller and trying to solve a mystery the two of us couldn’t solve back when it was actually relevant, huh? Do you know what these Angels are after?”

“We don’t even know who they are,” Nick says, arms crossed over his chest as he sits between Echo and Deacon. “We’ve heard about them too, but we haven’t seen them in person or found out much yet.”

“What kind of detective are you?” Mongoose frowns.

“Don’t be mean,” Rig scolds. “Nick’s been really nice to me. And they haven’t gotten rid of me for being a ‘pest’ yet.”

Mongoose winces. “Right...” She sighs. “You said something about a lady named Lady?”

“Ghoul lady,” Rig says. “Like you. Pretty like you too.”

“What I say about flattery, sweetie?” Mongoose sighs.

Rig blinks. “But— But you are...? Pretty...?”

“Ah,” Deacon says. “You like _ghouls._ I guess that means unless I become a ghoul again, I don’t stand a chance with my rugged good looks and strong muscles.”

“Hoo boy,” Echo groans.

“Don’t be silly,” Rig says, picking at his meat. “Your body’s the thing I like least about you.” He takes a bite and in the silence chewing notices everyone staring at him.

Echo bursts out laughing, bending over and holding Nick for support who is likewise laughing and nudging Deacon. Deacon stares, jaw slack, and Mongoose chuckles and pats Rig’s shoulder.

“Rigley, baby,” Mongoose says between giggles. “That doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

Rig groans. “Gosh _darnit,_ I keep _doing_ that!”

“Do I want to know what you meant?” Deacon squeaks.

Rig groans, louder and longer. “On the list of things I like about you, body’s last, is all. Separate list from what I dislike about you.”

“Oh?” Deacon asks. “And what’s topping the list of what you dislike about me?”

Rig blinks and then furrows his brow in concentration, cupping his fist against his lips as he thinks. He shifts the direction he’s looking every few seconds, and Echo laughs harder. “Oh!” he snaps his fingers. “I hate that you fed me bloodbug.”

Mongoose smiles and shakes her head. “Just as charming as always... Speaking of.” She frowns and looks off into the distance. “I suppose you want to know what happened to the other Rig?” She sighs softly. “You know, he always wanted you to take his name, but I don’t think he expected this.”

“Huh?” Rig blinks. “Why would he want me to take his name? Wouldn’t that be confusing?”

“...Anyway,” Mongoose continues. “He didn’t want to tell you, baby boy, but there was someone using his name to commit a bunch of crimes—”

“What?” Rig balks. “So he wanted me to have his name so _I’d_ be blamed for it?”

“Baby child, no,” Mongoose groans. “You’re not that dense. You’re a fucking _poet,_ god dammit.”

“Well— Well, no,” Rig sighs. “I know what you’re trying to say but I don’t understand why you would say that. Rig never liked me like that. He never said anything. I never liked him like that anyway. You know I can’t, like... _love_ people.”

Mongoose breathes in sharply. “Ooh, that’s still heartbreaking.”

Rig frowns. “It’s _not,_ though. What does it even matter if I can’t? I can still love people, just not... _love_ them. You _know_ this. We’ve _talked_ about this.”

“I know, I know...” Mongoose sighs. _“An. Ny. Way._ Some asshole framing him using his name. Police weren’t doing anything about it. We took matters into our own hands. Did our own little investigation and started getting close... Apparently the ‘asshole’ was something of a _crime lord,_ and once we got close enough, whoever it was sent some folks after us...” She sighs. “I don’t know what happened to Rig after that. I was held captive somewhere, probably to stop Rig from getting any closer. I was stuck there for a month and then... none of it mattered anymore because the Great War happened. I got ghoulified and eventually managed to escape, but... by that time, I lost contact with everyone. I found a few folks over time, but not all of them are around anymore...” She frowns. “And no idea what happened to Victoria. No sign of her, alive or dead. I decided to assume dead and move on. Same with Rig. Naturally, that’s why I got suspicious when I overheard the questions about a ‘Rig Miller’. Not like that’s a name people just _give_ their children, except for Rig’s parents who, apparently, must have been throwing a dart into a dictionary at random.”

Echo hums. “But does that mean you have a hint about who this crime lord was?”

Mongoose frowns. “Maybe. But I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Echo asks.

_“Because,”_ Mongoose says. “If I tell you, my dear baby boy is going to want to go there. And if Rigley gets caught up with any of that and gets hurt, I will be _very upset._ If he survived this long, I’m not going to have it that you’re dragging him into trouble.” She nudges Rig’s shoulder. “In fact, you’re welcome to stick with me instead of these losers.”

Dogmeat growls.

“Easy, boy.” Echo pats Dogmeat’s side. “It’s Rig’s decision.”

Rig frowns. “I don’t. Want to talk about it right now...”

Mongoose sighs. “Right... Well, anyway, that’s _my_ story. And I was promised poetry.”

“Oh...” Rig shuffles a bit and then fishes out his journal. He opens up to a poem and holds out the book. “Can someone read it for me? I don’t know how to read.”

Mongoose squints. “You don’t know how to—?”

“Oh!” Deacon snatches up the book. _“Now_ you get to hear my _performance._ Since you didn’t want to listen to that _Apollo Ray_ poem.” He clears his throat.

Nick takes the journal from him. “Don’t read in the dark with sunglasses on. _I’ll_ read it.”

“Awww,” Deacon whines. “Fiiiine.”

Nick rolls his eyes and then recites the poem.

_A little bit weird_ _  
_ _A little bit witty_ _  
_ _A bit of a situation that’s gone south of sticky_ _  
_ _Need a bit of air to clear out my head_ _  
_ _A bit more of this and someone will be dead_

_Gunfire and bullets_ _  
_ _Shouts filled with lead_ _  
_ _Hidden under cover under fear of something said_ _  
_ _How am I supposed to stay alive?_ _  
_ _This world is much harder to survive_

_But take all this decay_ _  
_ _Factor in something pretty_ _  
_ _That between the fight for your life, there’s still life in these cities_ _  
_ _There are people, each perfectly flawed in some way_ _  
_ _Kind or not, each trying to live day to day_

_There are dangerous creatures_ _  
_ _But there are creatures still_ _  
_ _There are living things with their own niche to fill_ _  
_ _I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m here all the same_ _  
_ _And I’m seeing all these new things while making something of my name_

_We can’t change the past_ _  
_ _We don’t know the future_ _  
_ _Perhaps the present needs a better suture_ _  
_ _But things are healing, perhaps different than before_ _  
_ _Things may never be perfect, but we can still try for something more_

Mongoose frowns and looks at Rig. “Writing from experience, honeybunch?”

“Your nickname for me was bright eyes,” Rig mumbles.

“It’s been a long time,” Mongoose counters. She sighs. “Well. If you all need a camp for the night you’re welcome to join me. Now that I know what the Rig rumors are about, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be watching his old place...” She nudges Rig who avoids her gaze. “You’re still welcome to stick with me. It’ll be like old times. Ricki and Rig. Except now it’s Mongoose and Miller. And whatever these Angels want, I’ll keep them away from you.”

“I’ll decide in the morning,” Rig says. He holds out a hand to take his journal back from Nick and then slips it back into his pocket. “I’m just. Tired. So you... don’t know anything about who Lady’s sister might be.”

“Nope,” Mongoose says. “Haven’t even met the lady. Where did you meet her?”

“N’wood,” Rig mumbles into his food. “She left... Trying to find her...”

Mongoose sighs. “Well if you’re trying to find a ghoul, maybe check one of the places ghouls are actually welcome. Slog or Goodneighbor— Actually, don’t go to Goodneighbor.”

“Why not?” Nick asks.

Mongoose motions at Rig. “You really think _this_ idiot should go anywhere near Goodneighbor?”

“Hmm. Good point.”

Rig squints. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Mongoose sighs. “It’s late. When was the last time you slept?”

“Woke up at 3 PM.”

“...You stayed up all night didn’t you?”

“Nyeh.”

“Oh, if Rig could see you now,” Mongoose sighs. “You’re getting sleep tonight, buddy. Even if I have to scour all of Bird Meadows for a teddy bear and a blanket to tuck you in.”

“Oh,” Echo grins. “Is _that_ what he needs to sleep? A snuggle buddy?” She looks at Deacon who sighs.

_“Fine,”_ Deacon says. “If I _have_ to.”

“What?” Rig blinks. He watches Deacon pull a teddy bear in sunglasses out of his bag. “Oh! It’s like an Echo bear!”

“It’s Echo’s nephew,” Deacon grins. “Let me introduce you to my _son,_ Lil’ Deacon.”

“I love your son, he has your eyes.” Rig laughs. “What a beautiful child.”

Mongoose narrows her eyes at Deacon again. “I’m onto you...”

“Well, you better get off before I tip over,” Deacon counters. He hands the bear to Rig who eagerly hugs it. “Just, uh... don’t let Dogmeat get him. And give him back in the morning.” He glances to the side as Nick and Echo’s smirks and clears his throat. “So...”

“So, um...” Rig says. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Deacon answers, cutting off the end of Rig’s sentence.

Rig deflates but still holds Lil’ Deacon in his lap. “Oh... Okay.”

Deacon lips thin for a moment before he suddenly grins. “I think it’s time for one of my patented _subject changes._ Who’s got a good ghost story _besides_ Echo and the Dunwich Borers one?”

“Didn’t you want to perform?” Nick asks. “Why don’t you make one up?”

“Fine with me! So it was a foggy morning out in the Capital Wastelands...”

Rig leans in to listen closely. Mongoose watches Rig and doesn’t say a word.

* * *

Morning arrives with Rig blinking awake from the feeling of someone pulling Lil’ Deacon from his arms. He looks up and sees Deacon with a charming grin at him before he rushes away to some unknown location. Rig yawns and sits up and sees Mongoose chatting with Nick and Echo with Dogmeat sitting obediently next to Echo and wagging his tail.

“I still say you shouldn’t take him to Goodneighbor,” Mongoose says. “You’re right that it’s his decision and you know some important people there better than I would, but if I’m heading to Slog to help you look for this Lady, then I’d like it better if he came with me.”

“If we do take him, we’ll keep him safe,” Echo promises. “If we don’t find her in Goodneighbor we’ll meet up with you in Slog to see if you found her there. Otherwise, just wait for word of what we find.”

“What’s going on?” Rig asks.

“We’re waiting for Deacon to find something for breakfast,” Echo says. “Then you’re going to decide who you’re staying with.”

“Okay.” Rig grabs a pen and his journal and flips to the first empty page he can find. “Okay.”

“Writing more already?” Mongoose asks. “You just don’t stop, do you? Want to show me when you’re done?”

“Okay.”

“...Right.”

A little while later, Deacon comes back with whatever he hunted, which Rig suspects is more bug meat given how no one wants to say just what it is. After the meat is cooked and everyone has eaten and Mongoose has packed up, she pulls Rig aside.

“Okay,” she says. “We’re in private, and they won’t be able to hear. Be honest with me, bright eyes. Do you want to come with me or not?”

Rig frowns and holds open his journal to the poem he wrote that morning. “Well...”

_Captivate me_ _  
_ _Steal my heart_ _  
_ _The things you say make it hard to part_ _  
_ _I feel as if this won’t last too long_ _  
_ _But the things you say are like a song_ _  
_ _Lyrical, intelligent_ _  
_ _Creative, adventurous, bold_ _  
_ _An assortment that always leaves me guessing_ _  
_ _And longing for every story told_ _  
_ _Lies and jokes, a hidden truth_ _  
_ _That remains in your dialogue_ _  
_ _You are the best wordsmith I’ve ever met_ _  
_ _With all others far lost in fog_ _  
_ _I could never love you_ _  
_ _As much as I love the things you say_  
_I worry at some point you will leave_ _  
And I dread that day_

Mongoose reads over the poem. She nods. “I understand.” She turns back to where the others are waiting and charges up to Deacon, leaving Rig behind. _“Listen here, Frank,”_ she growls. “You break his heart, I break your legs, understand?”

“What?” Deacon squeaks, pulling back in fear. _“What?”_

“I’m watching you,” Mongoose says, backing away while pointing at her eyes and then at Deacon. She looks at Rig as he approaches and smiles. “You take care. Stay safe, and remember the old motto, alright?”

Rig hums a melody.

“Good boy,” Mongoose grins. She grabs her things and waves. “Good luck in Goodneighbor. Don’t let anyone offer him chems. He’ll eat things you tell him to eat without looking at what it is first.”

Rig whines. “Don’t tell them that...” He watches Mongoose leave and then looks to the others and smiles when Dogmeat runs up and jumps at him. “Yeah!” he laughs. “I’m staying! I’m glad you approve. You’re such a good boy, I love you, Dogmeat.” He clears his throat and looks up at the others. “That’s— okay, right?”

“...What’s the old motto?” Echo asks.

“Follow the tracks to freedom,” Rig states, without singing. He hesitates. “So... I don’t know what Goodneighbor is, but before we go there...? I remembered how to get to Vault 113.”

Echo takes in a sharp breath. “Oh, that’s— _Whelp,_ no choice now, huh?” She reaches for Nick’s hand and holds on tight.

“It’ll be fine,” Nick says. “Deacon, are you coming with us?”

“Might as well,” Deacon shrugs. “Maybe there’ll be cool loot.” He looks at Rig and points finger guns at him. “So I guess that means... We’re on our way to lucky 113. Which would be...?”

Rig takes a breath. “Down by the railroad tracks.” He turns around and sings under his breath as he walks. _“Follow the tracks to freedom...”_ He hums the rest of the song he no longer has words to and leaves the rest to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the tune of "I've been working on the railroad": Follow the tracks to freedom [hum the rest of the song because no one remembers the rest of the Railroaders' lyrics]


	10. This Terrible, Stupid Man Cannot Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rig finds out what happened to him in Vault 113. Immediately gets distracted by some other shiny problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nova (and NoOne who is mentioned only) are both Glow's OCs

They stand outside Vault 113 and watch as the door rolls aside. Rig looks at Echo’s Pip-Boy and her look of discomfort facing the vault ahead.

“Do you need one of those to open the door?” he asks. “I didn’t mess with mine until I got outside...”

“Yeah,” Echo says, short and rough. She takes hold of Nick’s arm. “Now that we found the vault, we are  _ so _ stopping by Diamond City on the way to Goodneighbor so I can put this Pip-Boy the  _ hell _ away.”

“I don’t blame you,” Nick says, patting her arm. “We’ll be in and out as soon as we find out what happened here.”

“Nothing good,” Echo grumbles. “When is it ever anything good?” She sighs when Dogmeat licks her hand for comfort. “It’s okay, boy. I hate this, but it’s fine.”

“Well,” Deacon hums. He starts forward. “No use standing out here. You coming, Rigs?”

“Ah—” Rig follows after Deacon, leaving the others to follow them in. He glances around as they enter and flinches as he starts to remember the day he first entered. “Welcome to Vault 113,” he mumbles as they approach the welcome sign. “I... remember when I first got here and— I tried asking if Rig got here in time and...” He frowns. “They told me he had been removed from the entry list. It was...” He groans. “What was it...? Probably the murder charges, but...”

“What else do you remember?” Deacon asks.

“I... had a bag with some things— Two bags. Mine and Rig’s.” He snorts. “Really thought it’d be useful, having emergency bags to grab and take with us when we came here. Just personal things, comfort things. But guards said they needed to be inspected first and took ‘em and didn’t seem ‘em after. Probably around here somewhere...”

“Behind a locked door, I bet,” Deacon grins. “Want to learn how to pick locks?”

Rig blinks. “...Is that a useful skill to have?”

_ “Definitely. _ Sometimes you find cool or important shit behind a locked door.”

“Ooh... Um... Maybe not right here right now, though..”

“Suit yourself.” Deacon walks past the first terminal, which Rig glances at as they pass. Rig looks to see Echo and Nick making their way to that terminal, and so he follows after Deacon.

“You know where you’re going?” Rig asks as they pass by another terminal, and a few old skeletons. That... explains the vague, person-shaped things from when he left...

“The information you’re looking for is never on the first couple terminals,” Deacon answers. “Those are just flavor text.”

“Delicious,” Rig frowns. “So— we’re going to...?”

“This one here,” Deacon says, motioning to the third terminal they come across. “You want to practice hacking it?”

Rig shrugs and steps in front of the terminal and skims over the random strings of characters. Ah, so that  _ wasn’t _ from him being out of it... Wait is this even the same terminal he saw when leaving? Oh well. It takes him a moment, but he gets in and immediately opens the first entry without looking at the others.

> **VAULT 113 OVERSEER INSTRUCTIONS**
> 
> CONFIDENTIAL CONFIDENTIAL CONFIDENTIAL
> 
> OVERSEER EYES ONLY | VIOLATION VTP-01011
> 
> The purpose of Vault 113 is to test a series of body altering chemicals obtained in partnership with Transparency, Inc. in order to determine a proper combination and dosage to prolong the average human life and increase resistance to damage and radiation. 
> 
> The Ambrosia™ drugs provided by Transparency, Inc. are to be tested in varied amounts and combinations on residents who will then have lifesigns monitored. Residents will be subjected to a series of tests meant to injure the average human to determine effects of the Ambrosia™ drugs, with close attention paid to tests designed to kill the average human.
> 
> Residents are to be unaware of Vault 113’s purpose and will be taken individually for Ambrosia™ administration and held separately thereafter in the following tests.

Rig breathes in sharply. “Oh... Transparency, huh...?”

“Must not have been able to sell the TST and EST drugs,” Deacon observes. “Ambrosia, that’s a new one...”

Rig furrows his brow. “Wait...” He clicks through the following entries, skimming through the notes about residents dying, one resident falling unconscious, other residents surviving initially only to die in the following tests... Running out of subjects and moving onto the newly unneeded guards only to run out guards and out of Ambrosia™, the only subject alive being the one that will not wake up despite the testing on him... a fight that broke out between the scientists leading to some deaths and the Overseer deciding to open the vault to leave and reseal it after, leaving the remaining, unconscious test subject in storage...

None of the information he’s looking for. He stands up and walks away, and this time Deacon follows him.

“You know where you’re going this time?” Deacon asks.

“I’m trans, Deacon,” Rig says.

Deacon grins. “Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize trans people have an innate sense of direction.”

Rig sighs. “I already had TST-whatever the number was alter my body.” He looks at Deacon and frowns. “I doubt any of the other subjects dealt with Transparency before... Do you think...?”

Deacon frowns. “That that combination of drugs is what let you survive...? That you’re, what, less than human now as a result?”

Rig grimaces. “Oh, that’s a rude way to put it... But... Yeah. I— If they have notes somewhere on it... About—” He stops as a look of fear passes over his face. “About... if— if I can... even die. I can’t— I can’t die, can I? If they tried to kill me while I was asleep— If I  _ slept so long _ without food or water or...” He glances to the side and sees an open plastic door to a case in the wall just barely his size. “Or  _ oxygen, _ apparently? Is that why I was so out of it when I first woke up?” He takes in a worried breath. “This is how I survived that kidnapping thing— This is how I woke up after two hundred years as if nothing had changed. I  _ can’t die. _ I’m— I’m basically a  _ tardigrade!” _

“Rig—” Deacon grabs Rig by the shoulder and pats his cheek. “Hey, hey, calm down, buddy. What’s wrong with being a tardigrade?”

“I don’t want to live in moss,” Rig sobs.

“...Rigsby.” Deacon cracks a smile and laughs. He lets go of Rig to bend over, holding his stomach as he laughs. Rig watches him, watches as Deacon tries to get out more words. “You— Rig— I don’t  _ get _ you.” He looks up, over his glasses, and Rig sees his gray eyes for the first time, and sees for the first time how uneasy they look. “How are you  _ like _ this? You’ve got to be the most simultaneously easiest to read yet hardest to understand person I ever met.”

Rig frowns and averts his gaze. “Is...  _ that _ why you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.” Deacon stands straight again and clears his throat. “Yeah, no. Totally chill. Not at all freaked out about half the things you say, nope.”

Rig sighs. “Yeah, okay. Do you want to talk about it? You don’t— have to tell me the truth about it, I just... I like listening to you talk. I don’t know anything about you and maybe I never will, but... That’s okay, right?” He looks up at Deacon’s face, at the stoic look and silent answer. “Is— Is that not okay?”

Deacon sighs. “You... trust me, right?”

Rig nods. “Yeah, I—”

“You shouldn’t,” Deacon interjects, and Rig’s blinks in response. “You shouldn’t trust me. I haven’t told you a single true thing since you walked out of that vault door.” He points towards the front. “I can’t even trust  _ you _ if I can’t figure out how I’m supposed to read you.” He groans. “You don’t know anything  _ about _ me—”

“So what?” Rig frowns. “You know  _ too much _ about me and don’t trust me. I don’t expect you to. Since when is knowing anything a reason to trust people in this situation?” He pauses and sighs. “That’s stupid, isn’t it? No, you’re right, gosh—” He buries his face in his hands. “Why do you even let me hang around you, then?” he asks, muffled. “I’m some pre-war idiot who can’t die, apparently. You don’t have to stick around— I don’t want to make you stick around if you don’t want to.”

“No, I have to at this point.”

Rig peeks past his fingers at Deacon. “...Why?”

Deacon shrugs. “How else am I going to learn how to read you? But— Look...” He rubs his neck and sighs. “This is hard to say...”

Rig lowers his hands, watching Deacon carefully. “Then you... don’t have to tell me...”

“I’m trying to have an honest heart to heart here,” Deacon groans.

“...As opposed to your lies,” Rig says. “All of you keep saying you only ever lie— You’re actually telling the truth about something this time?”

“If it’s to get you to understand why you shouldn’t trust me, yes,” Deacon says. “Look, Rig, I’m doing my best to be an upstanding individual. The kind of person that helps people in need. You know how you had the Railroaders?”

Rig nods. “Yeah...?”

“We have... something like that for synths.” Deacon frowns, brow furrowed, and Rig stays silent to listen. “I can’t give you the details, especially with the Institute still around, but... I spent a lot of my time helping synths get to safety instead of letting them be used by the Institute or killed by people who wouldn’t want to give them a chance. And before you ask why this means you shouldn’t trust me—” Rig closes his mouth and Deacon continues. “—I used to be the worst kind of scum. The kind that hurt people. Killed ‘em even.”

Rig looks to the side, thinking it over... He takes out his journal and flips open to a certain page and reads something he wrote down. “Things are a bit more laissez-faire here.” He looks up at Deacon. “We’re the good guys, though. It’s self-defense or because someone is doing terrible things.”

Deacon winces. “Yeah, except, back when I was younger,  _ I _ was the one doing terrible things that should have been killed. I wasn’t the good guy back then. Hell, sometimes I think I might not be now. See, I used to be part of this gang... The Mire Lurkers. We’d sneak around, spy on people, find out their secrets and use it against them. Never got out of that habit, really. I mean, I followed you to your house, didn’t I? I spied on you writing that poem that could have been about you being a synth. If I wanted to, I could use that against you, start a witch hunt on  _ that _ alone.” He scowls. “Actually did that once. Used some information I dug up and outed someone as a synth. The town rounded him up and killed him. And it was my fault.”

Rig flips the page. “So you  _ did _ commit a crime. But not a murder.”

Deacon frowns. “No, it was definitely a murder. After that, I left the Lurkers. Grew up a bit. Became a farmer actually. Remember me telling you I was a farmer?”

“I don’t have those quotes written down,” Rig mumbles.

“Well, I was a farmer,” Deacon says. “Got a job as a farmhand for this nice older couple. Mom and Pop, they let me call them. Treated me as their own son, and... then I became their son-in-law. Married their daughter, Barbara.”

Rig looks up at him in confusion. “...Oh, that’s still a thing, right—”

“Yeah,” Deacon grunts. “It is. And then the Lurkers tracked me down and dug up information that Barbara was a synth and burned the whole farm and her and her family in it.”

“...Oh.”

“And I didn’t stop it,” Deacon says, irritable and turning away. “I let people die, and— And you shouldn’t trust me, alright? That’s it, no arguments. I can’t give you anything you want without it just coming back to hurt all of us. You can’t even trust me to tell you the truth if I hate you or not, so it’s not like you can trust if I love you.”

Rig frowns and looks down at his book. There won’t be a relevant quote in there... He closes it and tucks it away. “...I wouldn’t expect you to love me without there being a lie.”

Deacon scowls. “Yeah, you’re getting it—”

“I wouldn’t expect you to tell me the past that you hide,” Rig continues. “We all... lie for reasons. For something to gain. The only thing sadder is... when you lie about your pain.”

Deacon falls silent for a moment. “We’re doing this now? This is how we’re handling this?”

Rig gives him a look. He has the floor, it’s his turn to talk. They want him to think before speaking, and he has to think about rhymes... Say something smart with his poetry... “I couldn’t imagine the things you’ve been through. I wouldn’t believe what you say happened to you. But I know that it hurts you to tell me the truth. And if the lie hurts you too? Then I know that there’s proof.” He waves his hand in circles, thinking over the next stanza. “Whatever had happened... be it the story you shared, or something you’re hiding that you never want aired... I can hear the regret, hesitance in your voice. I don’t hold it against you. I won’t make that my choice.” He takes a breath and reaches out for Deacon’s hand, but remembers the situation when Deacon tugs his hand away... “I... cannot forgive you. I don’t have that right...” He motions vaguely. “I can’t reassure you, though try as I might.” He scowls and averts his eyes. “You’re still something better than other men I once knew.” He pauses, thinking carefully over the next lines. “For... even a liar can say something true.”

“You’re so full of shit, Miller.”

Rig puffs his cheeks and looks up at Deacon, but falters from his anger when he sees a couple of tears down Deacon’s cheeks. “...Oh. You meant it in the... you’re sad and angry about it sense... I...” He stops to think again. “It’s... not that I  _ trust _ you. Obviously I can’t. You’re a lying liar who lies about lies. But you’re the most  _ trustworthy _ person I’ve ever met. Because you’re  _ honest _ about  _ lying. _ Because you’re a liar and I can trust you to lie. I know how lies work.” He motions around him. “I’ve told a million lies and have been told a million more. People lie when they want something. But you... you’re honest about the fact you’re lying.”

“I want something too,” Deacon says. “Don’t get it screwed up. There are a thousand things I’m after with my lies.”

“But I still can trust that you’re lying,” Rig says. “I don’t have to believe anything you say because— because everything is a lie. That’s why I’d never know if anything you say is true. If anything you just told me you did is true. But whatever you’re hiding... Whatever it is you didn’t want to say. It’s clear it affected you. That it— ititit it hurt you and you regret it and have guilt about it. Maybe a person could fake those emotions but... that’s the thing. If everything you say is a lie, then everything is simultaneously true because I can’t prove it  _ isn’t. _ I know nothing about you and none of that matters. It’s— It’s not  _ you _ I love it’s...” He flinches. “It’s— the things you say. The things you say build up who you are to me, who any of you are to me, and what I know about you regardless if it’s actually a truth or lie about yourself. I’m— I listen to  _ words _ , I pay attention to your cadence, I can hear how you say things to me and others. I don’t trust people as easily as you  _ think, _ Deacon.” Rig sniffles. Oh, he’s crying, gosh darnit, he’s  _ crying. _ “I can’t trust Mongoose because as great as she is she was mean to you and the others and still says  _ things _ about how  _ I _ am. I couldn’t trust my  _ family _ not to let my own— not to let someone abuse me and couldn’t trust their lies on why it was a  _ good _ thing. But you’ve done  _ none _ of that. It’s not that I trust every face I see,  _ it’s that your face is the first one I could trust and I haven’t met anyone after Nick and Echo. _ I’m an idiot but not  _ that _ kind of stupid idiot hecking...” He rubs tears from his eyes. “Just... Just...”

Deacon stands still, silent and waiting for Rig to finish.

Rig finally glances to Deacon again and then turns away. “Never mind. We know why I’m still alive. We know I’m not going to die. So I’m just. Gonna lie on the railroad tracks forever. Or maybe I’ll crawl back into that— that crisper drawer thing and wake up after another two hundred years.”

“Hey, no.” Deacon grabs Rig by the hand and pulls him back. “No, listen. Come here.” He wraps his arms around Rig who eagerly returns the hug. “We’re... both messed up, aren’t we? A pair of honest liars who like saying weird things.”

Rig buries his face into Deacon’s shoulder and grips the back of his shirt. This... feels nice. He’s been needing a hug. “Mm-hmm.”

“A couple of broken people with obnoxiously working mouths.”

“Mm.”

“A matching set of word sluts.”

“What? No?” Rig pulls back and wrinkles his nose. “Don’t call us that, what?”

“Too late,” Deacon grins. “I’m getting it tattooed. Getting us matching jackets.”

“...No?”

“Aw, fair.” Deacon looks towards the side and Rig follows his gaze to where Echo is still holding onto Nick’s arm, Dogmeat sits next to Echo with his tail wagging, and Nick is holding a duffle bag with “Apollo” sewn into the side. “And that’s our performance of two idiots having a confession in a random vault, thank you, we’ll be here all week.”

“I’m leaving you the fuck behind if you are,” Echo scowls.

Nick rolls his eyes. “Right, so, while you  _ lovebirds _ were  _ nesting, _ Echo and I dug up the information we need and found  _ this.” _ He shrugs off the bag and holds it out towards Rig who finally lets go of Deacon to take it. “Don’t take the entire bag with you, just anything important you might need.”

“Okay, that shouldn’t be much...” Rig sets the bag down and crouches next to it to search through it. It’s definitely been searched through before, and several things are missing. The only thing in there he might need is... He pulls out an envelope with “to apollo” written on the front in familiar handwriting. He stares at it and shoves it back into the bag. “Yeah, I don’t need anything.”

“What was that envelope?” Nick asks.

“Something from Rig,” he says. “I don’t want to know what’s on it.”

“Might be a love confession,” Echo points out.

Rig scowls. “Then I  _ definitely _ don’t want to know what’s on it.”

“Let me read it,” Deacon says, holding his hand out. “I won’t read it out loud. Just in case it has something we can use to know what happened to him.”

Rig sighs and pulls back out the envelope. He hands it to Deacon who, true to his word, opens it and reads it silently.

Deacon crumples it up and throws it aside. “What do you know? A blank sheet of paper. Nothing on it at all.”

Rig smiles. “Thank you.” He gets up, shaky all of a sudden, and rubs his arm. “So... Can I die?”

Echo frowns. “You’re not allowed to.”

“But am I physically capable of dying...?”

“...Under  _ certain _ theorized circumstances that we will not be testing.”

Rig winces. “And is that why I didn’t feel the stimpak or...?”

“Oh, no, I have no idea,” Echo sighs. “So maybe that was a fluke and you might still be able to  _ feel  _ pain, so.  _ Don’t get hurt.” _

“Well, good thing we’re taking him to Goodneighbor next,” Deacon says. “The safest place in the Commonwealth.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Echo groans. “Let’s just get out of this vault and get to Diamond City so I can take this Pip-Boy  _ off.” _

Once they’re safely outside, with the vault sealed shut again, on the way to Diamond City, Nick looks back at Rig and Deacon and frowns.

“So.” He motions at them. “Are you two...?”

“Whatever could you possibly be asking, Nicolas?” Deacon asks.

“Are you  _ together _ or  _ not?” _

“I’m standing next to him.” Deacon motions at Rig. “Unless, perchance, you’re using a euphemism. Besides, Rigbert doesn’t do dating, right Rigsy?”

Rig shrugs. “If it’s romantic dating, I don’t. You’re probably one of the only people I would ‘date’,” he says in airquotes, “as long as it wasn’t romance or, uh, sex or— or—” He looks away. “Uh. Yeah.”

_ “Right, _ so—” Deacon stops and turns red. “Oh...” After a pause, he lets out a hasty “we’ll talk later.”

Echo and Nick both share a smirk with each other. They both do a hand motion at each other reading  _ “Got ‘em.” _

* * *

The trip to Diamond City goes smoothly, and Rig is grateful for a chance to get cleaned during the break while the others take care of any tasks they have to take care of before they head out again. Rig makes a note not to draw or lie in the dirt as much where he can help it.

He then finds and licks a glowing sword on a dare from Deacon, but that’s not important and Echo and Nick don’t need to know.

Echo and Nick definitely know.

They have one quick lunch break for “power noodles” to which Deacon comments “I can’t believe we didn’t take you here when you were last here” and to which Rig currently can’t taste thanks to his tongue still tingling from the glowing sword.

Echo and Nick  _ definitely _ know.

And then eventually, they’re back out, on their way to Goodneighbor. Rig and Deacon still haven’t had that talk and Rig isn’t anticipating it for some time. Instead, Rig listens to the others give him a list of rules. Things like “don’t talk to people and let us handle it” and “stick with one of us at all times and Dogmeat does not count” and “in case Lady is here, we’re not going to call you Rig Miller, but come up with a code name.”

Rig squints. “You mean other than my real name...? For some reason?”

“Well, sure,” Deacon grins. “For instance, you can call me Dee.”

“So like Jay?”

“DJ?” Echo asks. “Really?”

“...Em.” Rig shrugs. “Short for Emery?”

“MD,” Nick points out. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

“It was hard enough picking a name the first time,” Rig pouts. “And then the second time was by accident. You can’t expect me to just have a list of names to call me for any particular situation. Also: Janus Blue.”

“You really go for weird names, huh?” Nick chuckles.

Rig flattens his brow. “Your name is Nick  _ Valentine.” _

“Yeah, but that’s because...” Nick sighs. “Alright, fair.”

“Patron saint of beekeeping,” Rig continues.

“...Yeah?”

Rig points at his own eyes. “You have honey eyes.”

Echo laughs. “You do! Nick, you have honey eyes.”

“I heard the first time,  _ honey,” _ Nick sighs. He smirks when she blushes.

Deacon chuckles. “Well, Bluejay, I hope you’re ready for what Goodneighbor has to offer.”

“Bad strangers?” Rig asks.

“...Yeah, actually, so stick with us to stay safe.”

The setting sun and darkening sky make the neon glow of the Goodneighbor sign shine all the more brightly like a beacon for their approach. They enter, and Rig does as told and sticks with the others as they head deeper in. There’s a sound from down the way. Something loud, like a rocket, only getting louder and louder as it makes its way towards them.

“Oh no,” Echo winces and braces herself.

A tiny ball of energy tackles into Echo. The woman picks Echo up and spins her around with a shout of “HOLY SHIT WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE COMING?!?!?” all while Dogmeat barks and runs in circles around them.

_ “Nova,” _ Echo’s annoyed tone is betrayed by her look of amusement. “We’re here on business.”

Nova sets Echo down and immediately grabs onto Nick despite Nick’s step back and raised arms. She lifts him up, spinning as well, in only slightly slower circles. “NIIICK.”

“Nice to see you too, now put me down,” Nick groans. Once he’s back on the ground, he stumbles a bit before regaining his balance. “Just as energetic as ever...”

Nova turns to face Deacon. “YOU!” She charges at Deacon.

Deacon flinches and pulls Rig in front of him.

Nova stops instantly, eyes wide as she looks at Rig. “Oh my god— Your shirt.  _ Give it to me.” _

“What?” Rig backs into Deacon. “No! Who— Who are you?”

“Rig, this is one of my friends,” Echo introduces. “This is Nova.” She smiles. “Nova, how’s NoOne?”

“NoOne?” Rig asks.

“My ghooooulfriend,” Nova laughs. “She’s good. What are you guys doing here...?”

“We’re looking for someone,” Echo says. “On a case and all.”

“Oooh, yeah?” Nova grins. “Then I guess you might want to chat with the  _ mayor.” _

“Mayor?” Rig asks. He looks to the side at yet another sound.

“Well, well, well.” A ghoul walks into sight, dressed in the best outfit Rig has ever seen on a modern man. Like some kind of pirate.  _ Amazing. _ The ghoul flashes a charming grin at the group. “The ‘Lost Guardian’ herself paying a visit. And Nicky, good to see you too. You two keeping each other out of trouble?”

“John,” Nick nods. “We’re doing our best.”

Echo smirks and nods in Deacon and Rig’s direction. “These two on the other hand. Meet ‘Dee’ and Janus Blue.”

The ghoul looks them over. “...Pleasure. Name’s John Hancock. I’m the Mayor here in Goodneighbor.”

Rig immediately glares at Deacon.

Deacon takes a quick glance at Rig. “...What?”

Rig huffs up. “You told me John Hancock was  _ fictional.” _

There’s a quick bout of silence before Echo bursts out laughing again. Deacon grins and slings an arm around Rig’s shoulder.

“What can I tell you, Bluejay?” he laughs, and Rig smiles. “I’m a liar.”

“...Right,” Hancock says. “Sure.”

Nick squints at Rig and then shakes his head.  _ “Anyway. _ John, do you happen to know where we might find a ghoul named Lady?”

Hancock frowns. “You mean the one hiding here because some ‘Angels’ looking for an idiot in a flamingo shirt are after her for information?”

“What?” Rig asks. “Why are they looking for  _ me?” _

“You’re Rig Miller?” Hancock asks.

“No,” Rig says. “But I’m the only idiot in a flamingo shirt I know.”

Nova grins. “Give me your shirt and that won’t be your problem anymore.”

Rig grabs onto his shirt and turns away, offended. “No! Just go to Buttonwood. Dr. Ted has a box full of shirts like this.”

Nova gasps and runs off. “NoOne!” she yells as she goes. “We’ve gotta go to Buttonwood!”

Hancock eyes Rig but then smiles at Echo and Nick. “I can take you to her as long as you’re sure you’re not here to cause trouble.”

“Not here to cause it,” Nick says. “Don’t know about it following us.”

“Typical,” Hancock grumbles. “Alright, this way. And keep your little bird caged. Lady won’t be too happy to see him.”

Rig frowns, but he lets Deacon grab onto his arm to lead him after the others. They make it to a quiet little corner or Goodneighbor and Hancock knocks and enters first before stepping back out to let them in. Lady stands up as they enter, glaring at Rig.

“Still going by that stupid name?” Lady asks.

Rig shakes his head. “Blue. J— Janus Blue.”

Lady scowls. “Well, it’s too late, Blue. Word got out about a Rig Miller and about me saying Miller killed my sister and now, for some reason, some ‘Angels’ are after me.”

“That’s not my fault,” Rig sighs.

“Blue,” Nick interjects. “Let us handle this.”

Echo clears her throat. “Now, ma’am. We want to help how we can. But we need to know who your sister is. What was her name? Did she know Rig prior to her death?”

Lady sighs. “...She did. She was his best friend. Which made the betrayal all the more sour.”

Rig blinks. “What? That’s not—” He shuts up when the others look at him. “Sorry. It’s just... Rig’s best friend was Ricki Snyder. He never killed Ricki.”

Lady’s eyes widen. “Excuse me? How do you know that? The police came to my door and told me he stabbed her to death. They had a body—”

Nick curses. “Did you  _ see _ the body?”

“Yes, but...” Lady frowns. “Not closely... It was horrific, but they said they did DNA testing and—”

Echo furrows her brow. “Ricki is alive though...”

Lady stops. “What— What do you mean  _ is...?” _ She takes a step back. “You— You can’t be serious—” She turns to look at Rig. “But how would you know...?”

Rig squints. “Vi— Victoria?” He winces at her silence. “Do— Do you remember that 19-year-old that went into a hair par—  _ heck—  _ hair salon in Boston back in 2062 and... got some help from a couple of train-spotters? Who some years later lived with Ricki for a bit before moving in with Rig?”

“...Sunray?” Lady asks. “You— You can’t be  _ serious. _ You can’t  _ possibly _ be—” She motions at him.  _ “Look _ at you! You can’t be— not after so long...”

Rig looks at the others for permission, but they give signals for him to continue. “Vault-Tec experiment,” he says. “It kept me alive and I just recently woke up... I was— was still waking up when we met, is why I was... still acting stupid and not correcting people about the name I used...”

“Oh— Oh no.” Lady covers her mouth. “Oh, no, baby child...”

Rig grimaces. “And— And Ricki is  _ alive. _ I don’t know who it was that the police showed you way back when, but... We ran into Ricki outside my old place. She’s going by Mongoose now, and is—” He looks at Nick and Echo.

“She’s in Slog waiting for news on if we found you,” Echo says. “She doesn’t know you’re alive either. It seems that she was trying to help Miller find out who was framing him and got captured a month before the war and managed to survive.”

Lady takes a deep breath. “And— And this is  _ real, _ right? Sunray, tell me something so I know this isn’t a dream or a trick...”

Rig grimaces.  _ “Follow the tracks to freedom...” _

Lady collapses into the chair behind her and buries her face into her hands. “All this time.  _ All this time. _ I— I spent so long thinking Ricki was dead, hating Rig for killing her, thinking  _ you _ didn’t survive. And now I’ve been running and hiding because someone is after me because of Rig and I don’t know what’s going on or why...”

Rig shrugs. “I don’t either. But I’m using Janus Blue for a reason...”

“I don’t blame you, Sunray...” Victoria stands up and walks up to him and then pulls him into a hug that he doesn’t return. “I’m sorry, sweetie. This must be so rough for you. I know how close you were to Rig...” She pulls away and gently touches his hair. “Your hair’s getting long. If I hadn’t lost my scissors I’d offer a trim.”

Rig smiles though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’d... like that, yeah... And— And actually...?”

“Oh!” Echo reaches into her bag. “Actually, I found a pair of scissors while we were trying to find you...” She pulls them out and hands them over. “Are these yours?”

“Oh, yes!” Lady smiles and takes them. “Thank you so much. Here, Sunray, sit down over here... The rest of you can wait outside, this won’t take long.”

“Can Dee stay?” Rig asks. “I— You— You know that phobia I have...”

“...Oh, yes, of course,” Lady says. “Which of you is...?”

“That’s my cue,” Deacon says, guiding Rig to his seat and standing near him. “Don’t worry, Bluejay, I’ll make sure she gives you as nice a haircut as I have.”

Rig squints. “You’re bald.”

“Exactly! Can’t have a bad haircut with no hair.”

Rig pauses and giggles. “I rather keep my hair...”

“Suit yourself,” Deacon chuckles. “Makes me want to grow mine back out...”

“We’ll wait outside,” Nick says.

“See you in a bit,” Echo waves as she follows Nick out. The two of them go and wait where Hancock is smoking while Dogmeat sits next to him. “So, about them Angels...”

Hancock shrugs. “Haven’t seen ‘em. They haven’t tried getting in here, at least. We’re better for it.”

“Have you heard of them before?” Nick asks. “They seem to have come out of nowhere...”

“Only Angels I know of are the ones at that ritzy joint west of here,” Hancock shrugs. “What’s it called...? Club Heavenly? Some old pre-war hotel some asshole took over and runs as a club to let folks in for drinking and dancing and lounging ‘like old times’. Can only get in with a date and an invitation and a ‘nice’ outfit.” He motions down at himself. “Apparently this doesn’t quite fit the dress code. Can’t say any of the things you’re wearing would either. Especially Blue’s shirt.”

“Hmm.” Nick looks to Echo. “It’s a better lead than we’ve gotten so far. If the Angels are after Rig, they might know something...”

Echo grins. “Business  _ and _ a date?” She frowns. “But we’ll need invitations...” She pauses and then flattens her brow. “Deacon probably knows a way.”

“When doesn’t he?” Nick sighs.

Back inside with Lady, Rig sits silently as Lady trims his hair.

“And so then I moved to Buttonwood and met Teddy,” Lady explains. “And one thing led to another and, well... He and I are together.”

“Okay,” Rig says. “Um... I have a question, though...?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know where Rig and your sister were headed before they both went missing?”

Lady hums. “It was a long time ago... but I  _ do _ remember that last phone call I got from Ricki easily... She said she was heading to someplace called the Gold Haven Hotel with Rig looking for someone that was framing Rig... When I was told he killed her, I just assumed that it was a ruse...” She sighs and shakes her head. “I should have known...”

“Okay,” Rig says.

Lady frowns. “Sweetie, are you okay? You’ve been pretty tense...”

Rig sighs. “I... went to Transparency while we were looking for you. Because we were told you went that way...”

Lady wince. “Oh— Oh no... What did you...?”

“...Did you know when you took me there what Transparency was doing to us?”

“...Not when I took you there, no...”

Rig furrows his brow. “But you found out afterwards. And did you still...?”

Lady silently cuts Rig’s hair. Rig sits still and straight, and Deacon watches closely. “Well,” Lady says. “We didn’t have much choice, did we...?”

Deacon frowns. “So you just handed innocent people off to be experimented on.”

“What else could we do?” Lady asks. “Either they’d suffer being trapped in the wrong body, or they could be  _ happy _ as long as they were ignorant about it.”

“People  _ died, _ Lady,” Deacon argues. “The drugs they gave them were experimental. A lot of them got sick from it, and Transparency got rid of them to cover their tracks. And you willingly brought people to them. That’s blood on your hands.”

“It was never about being  _ trapped _ either,” Rig adds. “Not for all of us. I was  _ okay _ with my body except for a few things. I could have just had chest surgery and be done. I was  _ nineteen. _ I didn’t need them manipulating me into taking a drug and being watched for years after without even knowing.”

“But  _ you _ survived,” Lady argues. “And you’re happy with your body now, aren’t you? Isn’t that the important thing?”

“I got  _ lucky,” _ Rig says. “I know you think you didn’t have a choice to bring the others there, but... Your choice was to quit the Railroaders and not support that kind of thing or just bring people from one dangerous situation to another. And you can tell Mongoose I said that too. I know it’s lesser of two evils and all but... You two kind of... chose the greater evil there...”

“...That’s subjective,” Lady says. She sets down her scissors and hands Rig a mirror. “How’s this?”

Rig sighs and nods. “It’s good, thank you.”

“Twelve caps.”

“Whaaat?” Rig whines.

“I’m kidding.” Lady holds out a hand to help him up and then smiles at him. “I... know you’re upset about... everything. But I...” She frowns. “I never wanted to hurt you or the others. I was doing what I thought was right.”

Rig tilts his head. “Mistakes happen. I don’t blame you for making mistakes. But what are you going to do to make up for it? ...Mongoose is waiting for you in Slog. If you want to see her... She doesn’t know you’re alive either.”

“...Are we still friends?” Lady asks.

“I...” Rig winces. “Did— didn’t know we were to start with...”

“Ouch...” Lady sighs. “But... fair. I’ll... think about this, and figure something out. As soon as I get to Slog and find Ricki. We’ll do something to make up for what we did.”

Rig nods. “Okay... Good luck. Stay safe.”

“You too, sugarplum,” Lady smiles.

Rig sends a shaky smile back and heads out. Deacon follows behind him without a glance at Lady. He walks up beside Rig and nudges him.

“Hey, Bluejay,” Deacon says. “You okay?”

Rig sighs. “Not really.”

“You handled that better than I would have in your situation,” Deacon says. “Or maybe worse depending on your point of view. I don’t know how much slack I’d be willing to give her over that kind of thing.”

“Well, you know,” Rig shrugs. “Pre-war morals and all.”

“No kidding,” Deacon hums. He leads Rig up to Nick and Echo. “So—”

“We got a lead on where the Angels might be,” Nick says.

“Oh?” Deacon asks. “We got a lead on where Rig might have been headed. Some ‘Gold Haven Hotel’?”

“Club Heavenly,” Echo says. “It used to be a hotel...”

“Sweet,” Deacon grins. “Two birds, one stone. A bluejay  _ and _ a flamingo...”

“Speaking of...” Nick starts.

Echo grins. “We’re going to need to put you two in  _ suits.” _

Deacon stares. He grins. “We’re going undercover.”

Rig blinks for several seconds. “...I’m sorry?”

“You two,” Echo clarifies. “Are going on a  _ date.” _

“I’m SORRY...?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know that, before they leave, Nova makes sure to pick up both Deacon and Rig at the same time to spin them around. She has to assert her dominance.


	11. Let's Do Some Basic Math: if a Triangle has an Acute, Right, and Obtuse Angle, Where Did We Go Wrong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's date night! Time to dress fancy and flirt or be flirted with. Oh, also figure out who those L's Angels are, that too.

The waiting is the hardest part. After Goodneighbor, they go back to Diamond City, and Deacon immediately disappears to look into matters and get what they need for their plan. Days pass, with Rig spending his time in Echo’s place while Nick and Echo do work for their Detective Agency around Diamond City in the meantime. Even Dogmeat goes with them most days, leaving Rig on his own to sit and wait and write and wait and write.

And he still hasn’t had that “talk” with Deacon and at this point he suspects Deacon wants to pretend he never offered one. Which is fine, Rig wasn’t expecting anything and isn’t disappointed. Just a little annoyed by the weirdness of it all. Not even dating yet they’re going to make him put on a suit and go on a “date” and all.

His poems go from sugarsweet bubblegum to actual poems about his thoughts to his thoughts being full of awkward pining a bit too quickly... Too embarrassing to show anyone. He wants another hug, gosh darnit. Forget dating, just some human contact would be nice.

At least Deacon left Lil’ Deacon with him to watch in the meantime... Though looking at Lil’ Deacon just reminds him of his teddy bears back in Bird Meadows that he didn’t even look to see if they survived. Maybe if he ever gets another chance, he’ll go back and see how much of his belongings are still hidden in his room... If not, that’s another regret to add to the pile, and regardless it doesn’t take away the days that are slowly passing.

The waiting is the hardest part, and Rig rather be asleep for it, but at the same time he doesn’t want to risk sleeping for another 200 years instead of 200 hours.

He does some quick math. Yeah, that tracks. 200 hours.

“Rig.”

Rig blinks and looks up. “Oh. Hey, Nick.”

Nick smiles. “So we at the Agency have been talking...”

“Yeah?” Rig asks.

“Well,” Nick says. “After this case is over, you’ll be needing a place to stay and a new life to lead, right? Find something that your skills can handle or learn new skills, just _something,_ right? And, naturally, I imagine it’d be a bit harder for someone in your situation than most others...”

Rig squints. “Yeah...?”

“Well,” Nick says. “My current secretary, Ellie... Does a great job. Even files my ties for me. _But,_ she’s been looking into a political career. Only thing keeping her at the Agency is the fact she knows I don’t have anyone who could do half as good a job as her. That’s where _you_ come in.”

Rig blinks and then slowly grins. “Yeah...?”

“Yep.” Nick chuckles. “Now, I’m not expecting you to do the quality work I know Ellie for, but I expect you know your way around an office if you were an ‘unpaid intern’ over at Parsons. And you’ll even get some benefits. Like being _paid._ And having a place to live until you have enough and decide to get your own place. And it’ll mean Ellie can focus on her political career and maybe do some good around Diamond City.”

“Yeah...” Rig laughs. “I’d like that... That sounds good. Do I have to write a resume?”

“No resume needed,” Nick says, smiling as he shakes his head. “We’ll just have Ellie show you the ropes and then make it official. Celebrate with some brahmin steaks and maybe some wine.”

“Oh.” Rig wrinkles his nose. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

“...Nuka-Cola, then.”

“Neh.” Rig shakes his head. “Gross. I’ll drink it if I have to, but I never was a fan of cola flavored things.”

_“...Water.”_

“That works,” Rig nods.

Nick shakes his head. “You are going to go on some interesting dates with Deacon, I’m sure.”

“Oh, we’re not like...” Rig wiggles his hands uncertainly. _“Dating._ Haren’t— Ha— Haven’t really... _talked_ about it, y’know? We just like... said a bunch of sad sack stuff at each other and cried and hugged a bit, but I don’t know if he’s actually, like... _interested.”_

“He _is_ a mysterious one,” Nick agrees. “It might take him a bit to come around to the idea. He’s lived the kind of life where having loved ones can be dangerous.”

Rig furrows his brow. “I lived the kind of life where my ‘loved ones,’” he says with air quotes. “Were dangerous, so... There’s that.”

“...Yeah, speaking of...” Nick takes a seat next to Rig. “I’ve been wondering... Before you admitted you’re not Rig Miller, you only called him your roommate. And then after that thing with Mongoose you seemed a bit bitter about him. What exactly are your thoughts on the original Rig Miller...?”

Rig takes a breath and stares at the ground at their feet. “Well... Do you know what it’s like to love someone but never in the way they want you to? Maybe it was heartbreaking for him that he was in love with someone who couldn’t love him back. It was... heartbreaking for me that I _did_ love him but it was never enough for him. He was a good man. Even with what Mongoose and Lady did, they’re good women. But they’re— They’re _human,_ just like anyone.”

“Each perfectly flawed in some way,” Nick nods.

“Exactly,” Rig leans forward on his knees and sighs. “Rig was smart, he was kind, he gave me a place to stay when Mongoose got bored of having me around and dealing with the kind of nonsense I say on the day to day. He was my best friend and I loved him but I was never _in_ love with him, and I think that just... made me a bit bitter about things. I’m glad he’s not a murderer, but... I’m— I’m not sad he’s gone. I feel bad about _that_ more than anything, that I was so happy to see Mongoose is alive still only to... realize I don’t want any of them in my life. I’ve cut people out of my life for worse things, that this just feels _silly,_ that I’d be bitter and just... not care anymore. But—” He glances to the side at Nick. “But I don’t know if you _noticed,_ but I... actually don’t have a good understanding of empathy. I’m not— I’m not the best at understanding people or their emotions, about caring beyond what’s going on in my immediate circles. I cared less about the fact my friends died and more about _how_ they died and that’s... It feels callous.” He sits up. “So... the original Rig Miller? Cared too much. The current? Doesn’t care enough. That’s my thoughts.”

Nick hums. “I think you care plenty. Maybe you don’t think so, but... The fact you look at synths and robots and think of them as people without hesitation? That says a lot of your character. The fact you’d tell us private things about yourself and then not expect us to do the same— that you’d admit you don’t know if you can keep our secrets and give us the choice not to tell you? You care about us, and that’s good enough. And even Mongoose and Lady... You have every right to be bitter with them because of what they did and how they acted. You don’t owe them anything, yet you’re still giving them a chance. And then your friends who also dealt with Transparency... maybe you do have an issue with caring about them individually, but you still understand the injustice of what happened, and that’s good. Even if you have low empathy, that doesn’t mean you don’t have a good moral compass. After all, you said it yourself. You stopped being a scientist when you realized what you were working on would be bad...”

Rig furrows his brow. “I... never told you what it was, did I...?”

“Mm. Nope. Said you didn’t want to talk about it...” Nick eyes Rig in some fashion that Rig is uncertain of the emotion behind. “You want to tell me now...?”

“No...” He sighs. “But. I should. See, it was—”

The door slams open.

“Handsome’s back!” Deacon calls from the door.

Rig brightens. “Dogmeat’s back?”

Dogmeat squeezes past Deacon and runs up to Rig who laughs and pets him.

“Dogmeat! The most good and handsome boy,” Rig grins. He looks at Nick. “Look, it’s Dogmeat!”

Nick shakes his head and stands up. “I’m assuming Echo...?”

“Deacon, _move,”_ Echo huffs up from behind Deacon. “You’re blocking the door again.” Once Deacon steps out of the way, Echo walks in and flashes a grin at Nick. “Nick, want to go dancing tomorrow?”

Nick chuckles. “You two got the invitations?”

Echo produces two envelopes from behind her back with a flick of her wrist. _“Mm-hmm.”_

“Won’t it be a little suspicious if I’m there?” Nick asks. “I can’t exactly hide how I look, even if I put on a suit.”

“As far as anyone knows, we’re there on a date,” Echo says. “Meanwhile _John Dee_ here...”

“Also on a date,” Deacon says. He grins at Rig who looks back uncertainly. “That is, if anyone asks, Janus Blue and John Dee are on a date, got it, Bluejay?”

Rig squints. “I don’t, but okay? Why am I going? I don’t know how to do, um. Undercover things...”

“Don’t worry,” Deacon says. “You won’t have to _do_ anything. Just be there, look cute, act dumb, and the three of us will handle everything.”

“But not _too_ dumb,” Echo says. “Don’t do something stupid on purpose.”

“On purpose, got it,” Rig nods. “So on accident is fine.”

“Try _not_ to do anything stupid on accident either,” Nick sighs.

_“Got it,_ understood,” Rig nods again. “Act dumb but be smart about it.”

Deacon laughs. “Well, I’m convinced something is going to go wrong. Nice knowing the three of you.”

“I mean, that’s one of the reasons why I never went on a date before,” Rig shrugs. “Convinced something would go wrong. Par for course, if we all die, I’m right about dates being terrible.”

“Oh, shush,” Echo says. She frowns at Deacon. “Now look what you did. He’s afraid to date you.”

Deacon gives her a flat look. _“Really?”_

Echo smirks. “Okay, but seriously. We need to plan how we’re going to do this. Rig, want to get started on dinner?”

“You can cook now?” Deacon asks. “How long was I gone?”

“Fifty years,” Rig shrugs.

“Wow!” Deacon grins at Echo. “You look good for a seventy-something year old.”

“Thanks, I eat my vegetables,” Echo answers. “Rig, tell him what’s for dinner.”

“I’m putting Fancy Lads on a plate,” Rig answers.

Deacon stares and then turns towards Nick. “How long were they...?”

“They’ve been planning that joke for _three days,”_ Nick groans.

“Who said it’s a joke?” Echo asks.

Nick and Deacon stare at her, waiting for her to drop her stoic expression. Rig shuffles off to the kitchen and pulls out a box of Fancy Lads. Nick face palms and Deacon grins and juts a thumbs towards the door.

“As tasty as that sounds, how about I pick up some Power Noodles instead?” Deacon chuckles. “Delivered in 30 minutes or less or your money back.”

“You’re paying,” Echo says

“Can’t hear you, I’m already out the door,” Deacon says, slipping away.

“No Fancy Lads, then?” Rig asks.

“Maybe next time,” Echo says, waving at him to put them away.

Nick shakes his head. _“Right...”_

One dinner and planning session later, everyone turns in for the night, or at least tries to. Rig lies in bed, staring at Lil’ Deacon and the sunglasses on his face. Didn’t he used to have a bear like this? Perhaps a bit cleaner, perhaps a bit newer... Not one of his favorites, but one he still enjoyed having... One the original Rig had gotten him, as a “because you’re as bright as the sun” joke on his actual name.

Rig gets up, pulling Lil’ Deacon into his arms, and slips out of the room to find Nick and Deacon still up and chatting quietly.

“Can’t sleep?” Nick asks.

Rig doesn’t answer and instead just sets Lil’ Deacon in Deacon’s lap and shuffles off back to bed.

“Rig?” Deacon asks, but Rig doesn’t return. He shrugs and turns back to Nick. “So, anyway—”

“Where _did_ you get that anyway?” Nick asks.

“Get what?” Deacon asks. “My charm? I had it surgically attached—”

“The bear,” Nick says. “I didn’t think you were the type to keep sentimental objects around like that.”

“Oh, you know,” Deacon shrugs. “You go around, you see a bear wearing sunglasses, and since you have to make a stop to annoy your ‘little sister’ anyway, you decide to introduce her to her new nephew...”

“Was this before or after you stole Echo’s Pip-Boy to go into 113?”

Deacon tilts his head. “What makes you think—?”

“Echo knows,” Nick retorts. “Or do I need to pull her in here to pry answers from you?”

“...Before,” Deacon says. “Thought I could put it back before she noticed, but I guess not.”

“And you picked up Rig along the way,” Nick points out. “Which means you got the bear before going to Rig’s vault. And if you were in there looking for answers about one Apollo Ray...” He snorts. “Well, we may not have gotten a chance to go into his room, but...”

“You deduce that all on your own?” Deacon asks. “You ever considered a career as a detective?”

“Deacon.”

“Look,” Deacon says. “If Rig doesn’t know where I got the bear from, then that’s fine. I meant to give it back but there wasn’t a way to slip it back in place without him questioning it, but then he didn’t even recognize it and he actually got some sleep holding it—”

“Echo wouldn’t let you put it back in Apollo’s room, would she?”

“Ne-ope, and so now I have a son who I kidnapped from the guy I accidentally let out of a vault, go figure.”

“That _almost_ sounds familiar,” Nick sighs. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

“I can’t tell him the truth,” Deacon says. “He’ll just think it’s a lie. Besides, if he cared, wouldn’t he have tried looking for those answers?”

“How did he wake up anyway?” Nick asks. “If those scientists couldn’t wake him up when they knocked him out years ago, then what woke him up now? There wasn’t anything in any of the terminals—unless you saw something you missed when you went there.”

“What, like an alarm clock?” Deacon asks. “A timer? ‘Ding! Apollo Ray is done cooking, time to take him out of the crisper drawer.’” He shrugs. “Nope. Looked like a weird coincidence, which seems unlikely, but with this guy’s luck... What were the chances of meeting Mongoose _and_ Lady after so long and Mongoose being Lady’s so-called murdered sister? Maybe we’ll run into the original Rig too at this point.”

“I hope not,” Nick frowns. “I can’t imagine our Rig handling that too well.”

“You think he was serious about this being his first date?” Deacon asks. “Handsome guy like him? Witty and charming? Somehow can pull off a dirty, old flamingo shirt?”

“My _god,_ you _do_ like him.” Nick chuckles. “I can believe it. If he ever went on a date, it probably wasn’t something _he_ considered a date. I know we’re on a mission, but maybe try to show him a good time.”

“Right, so I _shouldn’t_ get us killed.” Deacon pantomimes writing notes. “Don’t... get... date... killed... _Got it.”_

“You’re lucky he can’t die easily,” Nick says. “But don’t push that luck.”

Deacon sends him a look. “Pretty sure I know that, Valentine.”

“Just saying,” Nick shrugs. “You don’t want your son to lose one of his fathers. Or become an orphan.”

Deacon stares and then scoops Lil’ Deacon into his arms. “Well, I don’t need my son hearing this kind of talk. Time for bed.”

Nick rolls his eyes and watches Deacon wander off. Once alone, he sighs and shakes his head. “This better be worth it...”

* * *

Rig Miller gets up the next morning after a sleepless night and coasts through the morning feeling worse than he has in some time. They spend the start of the day dropping off Dogmeat with Ellie before travelling to the hotel closest to the old Gold Haven Hotel, still in operation but too expensive and dangerous for them to rent a room for the mission. Just as well, since it seems this smaller hotel often gets guests heading to Club Heavenly under the same justification.

He eats the food he’s given despite his nausea, stays silent as he tries to focus on anything, finds himself drawing tired little triangles in his journal instead of trying to think of words.

“Rig? _Rig.”_

“Hrm?” Rig blinks and looks up. “Oh— Wha?”

“Are you okay?” Echo asks. “You need to get dressed.”

“Nervous,” he says, shutting his journal and setting it aside. He won’t need it for the “date” or the “mission” or the “whatever they’re calling it now.” He gets up. “Where’s...?” he asks looking around.

“In your room,” Echo says, nodding towards said room. “Let someone know if you need help with it.”

Rig frowns. “Bow tie or necktie?” he asks, doing a different hand motion for both.

“Bow tie or necktie?” Echo calls to the next room.

“Bow tie!” Deacon calls back.

“What are you doing in there anyway?” Nick asks, already dressed and seated in wait. “Echo still needs to get dressed.”

“Oh, you know,” Deacon calls out. “Can’t have Rigsby seeing the bride before the wedding. Or the mission partner before the mission.”

Echo flattens her brow. “You got matching suits, didn’t you?”

Deacon pokes his head out, now wearing his pompadour wig. “Oh, don’t spoil the surprise. Rigs, go get dressed.”

Rig shrugs and heads to his room. He sees a teal blue suit, purple shirt, and blue bow tie, a bit to clean and fresh compared to the clothes he’s seen others wearing before... He wonders for a moment where they got it before deciding “termites” under his breath and changing out of his clothes...

He’ll have to leave the flamingo shirt behind... Farewell, sweet prince, Rig will return to you soon.

He gets everything on save for the bow tie which he carries with him to where Nick and Deacon are waiting. Rig eyes Deacon’s suit, in the inverse colors of his: blue shirt, purple suit and tie... He holds out the bow tie and mumbles a “don’t know how to tie a bat.”

Deacon grins at him. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” He turns to Nick. “So, about that keeping my date alive thing.”

Nick groans. “Rig, are you going to be stable enough to do this, or should we have Deacon pretend to be Echo’s date?”

“What?” Echo asks from the next room. “I was looking forward to this.”

Rig shugs. “I’ll be fine. Just— Just— What has caffeine here? Not coffee.”

“Just Nuka-Cola,” Nick answers.

Rig wrinkles his nose. “...I’ll live. I’ll be fine. Gross...” He looks at Deacon. “I... need help with the tie?”

“Right...” Deacon stands and takes the bow tie from Rig. “Never learned to tie one of these?” he asks as he works on putting it on.

“Nah,” Rig says, craning his neck in discomfort. “Only ever wore clip-ons. Can tie a necktie, but uh... not well...” He glances down and then up at Deacon’s face. “Um— So—”

“And _done,”_ Deacon says, pulling his hands back and then framing Rig with his fingers. “Well look who cleans up nice. Mr. Janus Blue, you look like a new man.”

Rig frowns. “So... Why can’t I use Apollo Ray anyway?”

“Just a precaution,” Nick says. “If there’s someone at Heavenly looking for ‘Rig Miller’ then they might know about an ‘Apollo Ray’ too, and we don’t want them knowing you’re connected to either name.”

“Because they’re my names,” Rig says. “One being stolen the other being illegal.”

Deacon grins. “Apollo Ray is your _illegal_ name?”

Rig shrugs. “Used to have to pay to change your name. Records could still be tracked. So I had mine changed illegally. And then wiped the person I was from existence...”

“Wow,” Deacon hums. “I’m a little jealous. Was it as easy as you make it sound?”

“I dunno what Trace had to do to do that,” Rig says. “But if they were found out, they would have been arrested.” He frowns. “At best. And if they were found out, they could have had all the identities of who they helped compromised. I might have been forced to go by the wrong name again and deal with my family... Or worse...” He sighs. “But it was easier throwing away who I used to be since I left everyone who would have known, uh... her... a thousand miles away...”

“Ah, yeah,” Deacon hums. “The distance would help. So if I ever need a new start, I could always go to the Mojave. Ooh!” He grins. “Maybe become a courier! Delivering mail across the desert, trying not to get shot in the head...”

“I think it’s easier now,” Rig says. “You can just. Boop.” He makes small “explosions” with his hands. “New name, new identity, no one has to know unless they already knew you.”

“Change your entire face for a few caps,” Deacon hums. “Shave your head, start going by ‘Deacon’ and never tell anyone your original name.”

“I should change my name to Deacon next,” Rig says.

“Ooh, sorry, that’s taken,” Deacon chuckles. “Might I suggest changing it to Nick Valentine?”

“No,” Nick frowns. “There’s already been enough Nick Valentines in the world.”

“But I can’t use John Hancock,” Rig says. “He’s non-fictional, _apparently.”_ He pouts at Deacon.

Deacon laughs. “Aw, let it go, Rigsby. You were bound to find out eventually.”

Nick narrows his eyes. “You two have inside jokes, and for some reason that makes me feel like you two shouldn’t be left alone. Maybe we should make Deacon go with Echo after all.”

Echo leans in the doorway, now in a silver dress, fancy sunglasses, and with her hair loose and lipstick on. _“Nope._ You’re with me tonight, Valentine.” She smiles. “Ready to go, boys?”

Nick smiles and stands up and takes Echo by the hands. “Well, look at you, doll. I’m one lucky synth.”

“Looking good yourself,” Echo smiles. She looks at Deacon and Rig and smirks. “You _did_ get matching suits.”

“Are they matching?” Deacon asks. “I had _no_ idea.” He grins. “Alright. We have a party to crash.”

“I thought we have invitations,” Rig says.

_“Stolen_ invitations.”

“Oh,” Rig hums. “Fun.”

“We’ll go down first,” Echo says. “You two wait about twenty minutes and then follow in. Remember, we’re looking into those Angels and what they might know about Rig Miller, _but_ we don’t want them to know _we_ know anything about Rig Miller. Deacon and I know who to look for. Nick, I’ll point them out to you once I see them.”

Rig rubs his forehead. “So this is the kind of thing I need to be silent-quiet for, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” Echo hooks her arm around Nick’s. “Let ‘Dee’ handle it and stay out of trouble.”

She and Nick head out and the door closes behind them, leaving Rig alone with Deacon.

Rig messes with the buttons on his cuff and frowns. “Can we... talk?”

Deacon lifts his brow. “About...?”

“I dunno,” Rig says. “Didn’t think that far.” He tilts his head. “Do you... think we’ll find out what happened to Rig...? He can’t be alive, right? Think he found out who framed him...?”

“Hard to say,” Deacon hums. “Maybe he did, or maybe he was abducted by those aliens we mentioned a while back. And with your luck, maybe said aliens will drop him off at Club Heavenly and he won’t have aged a bit and will whisk you off your feet.”

Rig wrinkles his nose. “Ew, no. I don’t want that.”

“Yeah?” Deacon asks. “What _do_ you want, then?”

“...I dunno.” Rig digs his fingers in his hair. “I... I think I want to forget this entire thing and— and— and— I don’t know. I only wanted to prove Rig wasn’t a murderer, and we did that. He never killed Lady’s sister. But then— then this other stuff happened and— And I still feel like you’re mad at me about the synth efficiency thing and I don’t know if Nick or Echo told you what I said, but...”

“Oh, I— I heard,” Deacon says. He clears his throat. “Real wild stuff, huh. _Science._ Kind of wonder what you did way back when that was so bad...”

Rig pulls his hand away from his head and frowns at Deacon. “We were trying to figure out a way to make artificial organic beings for the purpose of using them as tools with the caveat that they’d be self-thinking individuals to allow for problem solving, so they’d essentially be people treated like machines and I was not okay with that when I found that out.”

“...Oh.” Deacon’s lips thin as he watches Rig. “So... You were trying to make synths years before the Institute did.”

“Not necessarily human,” Rig says. “But... yes, I guess? I was— I was assuming it’d be to make artificial animals, repopluate extinct things, but... No, course it wasn’t...” He sighs. “So I took my research—which might have been able to succeed at— at _things_ if I had finished it... and I destroyed it and stopped returning my workplace’s and Pits’ calls. I could...” He hums. “Probably? Recreate some of it? If given the time and resources, but... S’bad. Don’t want to. Blut I saw a report thing and it just...” He waves his hand. “Bloop. Booted up that memory and habits without my wanting.”

Deacon frowns. “We have _got_ to keep you out of the Institute’s hands. You’re probably a better scientist than any of them, and that’s dangerous.”

Rig squints. “You don’t know that. My science is from 212 years ago. They probably know things I don’t. My stuff’s probably outdated. A lot happens in science discovery—” He pauses. “Science _rediscovery_ in 212 years.”

“Still,” Deacon says. “And with the Institute at PITS, they’re going to have seen the name Apollo Ray around. We might have to avoid calling you that for a while.”

“Janus Blue or Rig Miller,” Rig says. “I could make up other names. Was going to use Noland as a middle name before, but luckily decided against it since because Noland from Parsons ruined it for me.”

Deacon grins. “Because he likes chocolate cake.”

“Because he liked chocolate cake,” Rig agrees. “And was mean to Miss Simmons’ Mr. Handy.” He wrings his hands together. “But— But I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t willingly do any— any of _that._ Just— Just so you know. I don’t want to disappoint you. I want to be a better person than that...”

“Yeah, I— I know.” Deacon lifts his brow. “You know you left those pages with the corrected math crumpled on the floor, right? Had to burn ‘em. But I read that poem on the back of one of the pages...”

“...Oh,” Rig hums. “I _thought_ it was weird my— my journal was— when I woke—” He stops and hesitates. “Did— Did you save the poem at all...? I didn’t memorize it ‘fore I...”

“Hold that thought,” Deacon says. “It’s been twenty minutes. We’ve got to get going.”

Rig squints. “That feels pretty short for twenty minutes—”

“That’s just sleep deprivation getting to you,” Deacon says. “It’s been twenty, let’s go.”

“O— Okay?” Rig lets Deacon push him out the door, and he then follows along with Deacon out to the Gold Haven Hotel and to Club Heavenly waiting inside. Deacon hands their invitation to the doorman who lets them in...

Clean and ornate compared to the world outside. Shiny glasses, a crystal chandelier, even a big band playing on a stage and some upper balconies around the ballroom where folks are watching the party below. People dancing, people mingling and talking, fresh food and alcohol...

Exactly the kind of place Rig does not want to be. He reaches for Deacon’s hand, but thinks better of it this time and fiddles with his jacket cuff again. Deacon clears his throat, drawing his attention, and Deacon holds out his arm for Rig to take.

“We’re on a date, aren’t we, Bluejay?” Deacon asks.

Rig wrinkles his nose. “Oh, now I _really_ don’t want to hold your arm...”

“Right,” Deacon moves his arm away. “Is hand holding still on the table?”

Rig brightens and slips his hand around Deacon’s. “Mm-hmm.”

“Great,” Deacon squeaks. He clears his throat. “Here, c’mon. Let’s find you a place to wait while I chat around for answers.”

“...Oh,” Rig says, smiling fading as he follows Deacon in. He looks around for Nick and Echo and sees the two of them dancing to whatever song is playing. He looks around more at everyone else. Everyone seems to be a couple having a good time. Deacon stops, and so Rig stops and looks at him.

“You wait here,” Deacon grins. “I’ll be back with snacks.”

“Okay,” Rig says, letting go of Deacon’s hand.

This isn’t actually a date, he reminds himself as Deacon walks away.

He doesn’t want this to be an actual date.

But at the same time... He doesn’t want to be left alone in a strange place in a venue he is in no way comfortable with.

He tries to keep an eye on where Deacon goes, but he disappears into the crowd too easily. You’d think a purple suit would be easier to spot, but no... Rig slumps his shoulders and picks at the buttons of his cuff. Maybe if he pulls hard enough, one of them will come loose... But then that would ruin the look, and he doesn’t know if he has to give back the suit later...

He waits and waits and waits, and waiting is the hardest part when he doesn’t know what to do or how soon Deacon will come back or someone will notice him standing on his own. He can already see the big, burly bass player on stage eyeing him, or maybe that’s his imagination. One song ends and another picks up right away...

Rig decides it’s been “twenty minutes” and that he’s tired of waiting. He walks away from his little spot and tries to find his not-date in the crowd. He looks around for any sign of a purple suit, only stopping when something taps his shoulder from behind. He turns around, suddenly faced with a short man with sharp features and what seems to be his tall girlfriend on his arm and waving at him.

“You looking for someone?” the short man asks.

Rig nods. “Ye— Yeah, I can’t find my date. He wandered off and...” He shrugs. “I’m trying to find him.”

“Oh, yeah?” the short man asks, lifting his brow. “I would hope so, since Club Heavenly has a strict ‘no singles’ rule.”

“...Oh.” Rig looks around again, still trying to find him. “Gosh darnit, Dee...”

“Gosh darnit?” the man asks. “Who exactly are you, kid?”

“A— Janus Blue,” he says. He glances back to the man and his intense look. “Um... And you?”

The man narrows his eyes. “Call me Acute.”

“Like the angle?” Rig asks.

“Because he’s a _cutie,”_ Acute’s girlfriend corrects.

Rig blinks and the grins. “Oh! That’s clever, I like that.”

_“Do_ you now?” Acute asks.

“Mm-hmm,” Rig nods. “It’s— It’s a pun. I like puns. I— I work with words, a lot. Poet and all...”

“A _poet,”_ Acute scoffs. He looks up at his girlfriend. “Hear that, Babe? He says he’s a _poet.”_

“Could you write me a poem?” Acute’s girlfriend asks. “About radstorms? Ooh, or hubflowers?”

Rig blinks. “...Could— Could I get a different prompt?”

“You act like you don’t know what those are,” Acute says. At Rig’s silence, he snorts. “Okay, wise guy, how about one about _smoke?_ You know what _smoke_ is?”

Rig tilts his head. Smoke... _Hmm..._ He thinks about it for a few seconds, not noticing Acute’s look of suspicion until he starts to speak. “Smoke before fire, like the night before dawn. A calm moment of darkness before trouble comes on. A warning of disaster, a portent, a cry. A chance to avoid it, if one wants to try.”

Acute’s eyes widen and he looks up at his girlfriend. “Babe, I think this guy might be legit.”

“Oh, but that’s a sad poem,” the girlfriend says. “Do a happy one!”

Rig blinks. “About smoke?”

“About dancing.”

“Dancing, huh...?” Rig looks at the couples dancing, watching their movements, their closeness, how happy they seem... “...If actions speak volumes, then I’d like to dance. Language spoken so clearly with only a glance. No lies in the movement, a lesson in trust. A small dance together amid passion and lust. Or a more innocent motion told in a single spin. A heartfelt ‘I love you’ with a twirl and a grin. I’d like to dance, to express the words I can’t share. I think it’d be nice to show how I care.”

Acute grins. “You’re really speaking from the heart there, aren’t you, Jan? I think you’ve earned a seat with us until your boyfriend finds you, so long as you keep up that poetry shit.”

Rig winces. “Oh— I’m not sure...”

“No, really,” Acute chuckles. _“I insist.”_

Rig swallows. “O— Okay...”

Meanwhile, moving to the side of the dancefloor, Echo leans into Nick while she catches her breath. “Okay, so,” she whispers. “The bassist? One of the Angels.”

Nick frowns. “So we do have a lead here...”

“That ghoul in the left balcony across from us,” she continues, and Nick darts his eyes without moving his head. “They called him their boss... Maybe that L, but I don’t think that has to do with his name. They said it was a visual pun, somehow...”

“What kind of visual pun would that be?” Nick hums. “But what about the other two...?”

“Haven’t seen them yet,” Echo says. “One was short, sharp features. The other, I couldn’t get a good look at his face from any of the echos I got...”

Nick hums. “Alright... So if we can catch someone from the band on break... We can—” He cuts off as Deacon walks into sight. _“Dee,”_ he hisses.

“Shh,” Deacon shushes, head only half turned their way. “We don’t know each other, remember?”

“Where’s Janus?” Echo asks.

“Where’s—?” Deacon looks at his hands. “Oh, I seem to have lost him. Relax, he’s waiting for me over—” He looks around. “Uh...”

“He’s not where you left him, is he?” Nick asks.

Deacon clears his throat. “Catch you later,” he whispers before heading off into the crowd.

Echo shakes her head. “Of course...” She looks towards the stage and nudges Nick. “The singer is switching out with another. Let’s go talk with her.”

“Right,” Nick agrees.

Over on the other side of the ballroom, Rig sits uncomfortably with Acute and his girlfriend and some other invitees who seem interested in the poems Rig is making up on the spot. As much as he likes poetry, he’s not too fond of being used as a poem generator for a bunch of strangers. He much rather have a regular conversation.

“So, I bet you’ve wooed a lot of people with your poems,” Acute says.

_Not that conversation._

Rig smiles nervously and shakes his head. “No— No, not really. Not that I tried, at least. I do this kind of thing all the time to the point I— I’d rather be wooed with words than woo someone else.”

“Oh yeah?” someone behind Rig asks. “Could I try?”

Rig turns to look at the man and freezes instantly. Blond hair, familiar blue eyes, the only difference between him and the face he used to know being a scar across his cheek. Even the smile down at him looks the same, and Rig swallows as he thinks back to centuries ago and that smile at him telling him that they have places in a vault that one of them would never get to see.

Whoever this stranger is... He looks just like the original Rig Miller.

He realizes he’s staring and smiles nervously. “Uh— S—Sure. You can try.”

“Ninety, you sly dog,” Acute laughs. “Going to try to steal the kid away from his long-gone date?”

“Well,” the man, “Ninety”, laughs. He flashes Rig a grin. “If his date doesn’t have the eyes to keep someone as handsome as him in sight at all times, then why not rob his date blind, hmm?”

_Oh no that was clever—_ Rig stammers. “Well— I’m sure he’s— Some— Somewhere...”

Ninety smirks. “You want something more to be wooed, don’t you? Some better words to win you over? How about this?” He kneels down and takes Rig by the hand. “I would wait centuries to merely meet a man of your caliber, part the oceans to find you, move mountains to prove my adoration. Say the word, and your every desire is done. Any wish you have, you merely need whisper it and I will bring it to light and make it come true.”

_Not those words NOT THOSE WORDS._ Rig stares, still struggling to speak, unsure if he should move his hand or what.

Acute chuckles, almost as nervous as Rig. “What the fuck, Ninety...?”

Ninety smiles up at Rig. “How were those words, hmm?”

Rig doesn’t say anything, merely stares with discomfort clear on his face. “Nnn...” he gets out, before a familiar cadence in the form of a guardian angel joins the conversation.

“If you want words, have you tried looking in a dictionary?”

Rig gasps and excitement overtaking his features as he stands and pulls his hand away from Ninety’s. “Dee!”

Deacon grins and continues his thought. “If you want a book recommendation, dictionaries make for a real good bedtime story. Get halfway through the A’s and then skip straight to those Z’s. Hey, Bluejay, what I—? Oof—” He holds on when Rig hugs him. “Oh— Hey, didn’t think you’d miss me _that_ badly. I was gone for, what, ten minutes?”

“You said good words, De— Dear,” Rig murmurs. “I like your words.”

Deacon grins, brows lifting. “Glad to hear it, Bluejay...”

Ninety stands and wipes off his pants legs. “Well. Seems your date is back, so I ought to get back upstairs...” He looks down at Acute. “Don’t cause any messes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Acute huffs up. “I’m not the one you have to worry about, Ninety.” He watches Ninety storm off and then grins at Rig and Deacon. “So, Jan, your date found you after all, hmm? You going to introduce him?”

“Dee,” Rig says. “This is Dee— Dear— I like him.”

Deacon chuckles. “Oh, _someone’s_ tired. You need to get out of here?”

“You didn’t get me snacks,” Rig reminds. “Let’s get snacks.”

“Sure thing, Bluejay,” Deacon says. He doesn’t react when Rig grabs onto his arm and instead just leads him away towards the snack table. “Are you alright? That guy flirting with you...”

Rig grimaces. “He... looked familiar...”

“...Another person you know?” Deacon asks.

“It can’t be, though,” Rig says. “He looked like... Um... My _roommate.”_

Deacon frowns. “Thought as much...”

“Acute and Ninety,” Rig mumbles. “That’s weird... If there’s an Obtuse...?”

“There is,” Echo says, walking up to them holding onto Nick’s arm. “The bassist. We talked to a singer and she let us know his name.”

“What’s their angle?” Deacon hums. “Going by those names...”

“Angle.” Rig makes an L with his finger and thumb and traces the inside of it. “Angle?”

Nick squints. “Are you saying the L in L’s Angels is actually an angle?”

Deacon gasps. “We actually do have to face a bunch of _mathletes?_ Really? So we really should have been studying calculus.”

“What?” Rig asks. “Is that a joke you’ve made before? That— Calculus isn’t even the right math for...? Angles is, like... Trig stuff?” He makes a triangle with his hands. “Triangle stuff.”

Deacon stares. “You were a mathlete, weren’t you?”

Rig thins his lips and darts his eyes around. “...Only for one year when I was twelve, and I was only an understudy because I wasn’t fast enough and math competitions are timed—”

Deacon smiles and shakes his head. “Relax, Bluejay. There’s no shame in being a giant nerd.”

Rig huffs up. “But— But Ninety...” He looks at Echo and Nick. “There was someone who was being weird at me who looked like my roommate... And if these are the people who were after Rig Miller and Lady...”

“We did get a bit more information from that singer,” Nick says. “Something about the boss having a few pre-war secrets locked up in one of the suites upstairs. Room 719.”

Rig pulls a disgusted look. “Gross.”

Echo lifts her brow. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s prime,” Rig says. “The only good prime numbers are 2, 3, and 5.”

Deacon grins. “And you’re _slow_ at math?”

Nick sighs. “Let’s get upstairs. We have a mystery to solve.”

* * *

The climb up to Floor Seven goes as smoothly as it can between how tired Rig is, the fact Echo is in a dress, and how much Deacon and Nick complain the entire time. But they get to the seventh floor and find it empty, and they tread carefully to Room 719.

“Nick, Deacon, you two wait outside,” Echo whispers as she kneels to pick the lock on the door. “Keep guard. Blue and I will go in and look for anything of use. Blue, don’t touch anything, but let me know if you see anything you recognize.”

Rig nods. “Okay.”

“Yell if you need us,” Nick says. “Good luck.”

“Mm-hmm.” Echo gets the door unlocked and pushes it open. She stands and checks for any enemies inside and then motions for Rig to follow her in. “Look for clues,” she says, leading the way into the suite, eyes glowing under her glasses. “A safe that might have evidence in it. Maybe a holotape we can take and play back later...”

Rig nods and searches around, making sure to touch as little things as possible. He leaves that for Echo who seems to know better what is and isn’t safe to touch. Still, he peeks into the bedroom, doesn’t see any traps, and so sneaks in and looks around.

...The view out the window is nice, as scary as it is to be so high up in so dark a night. Though he’s not sure if sunlight would be any better. The irony of naming himself Apollo never once escaped him with his sleepless nights both back then and now... Though it was easier having something to hold to... A weird little habit he gave himself. It’s safe to sleep if something he trusts is there with him, after all. Monsters, both real and imagined, can’t get him if he’s sleeping with something he trusts in his arms or pressed against him to let him know it’s there... Dogmeat, Lil’ Deacon... He wonders for a moment if he’ll ever trust a real life human person in bed with him, but... no, that’s scary...

“Find any—” Echo pauses as Rig jumps and yelps, and she waits patiently for him to turn around and calm down upon seeing her. “Find anything?” she asks again.

“Um...” Rig looks around and then points. “Safe.”

“Jackpot,” she grins heading up to the safe to open it. Her eyes glow brighter in the darkened room for a moment as she works on figuring out the combination...

Rig furrows his brow as he watches her. It’s been several days since she had wanted to tell him, and he still doesn’t feel right asking about it now... But it’s definitely something he noticed... Some power, perhaps. She does know someone psychic, so perhaps she is too...

“Um...” Rig says, and she tilts her head in his direction. “What do you... see when your eyes get all glowy like that...?”

She hums. “Echoes,” she answers.

Oh, that explains her name... Echoes... Memories, then...? He nods. “Involuntary...?”

She turns her head to look at him, perhaps calculating her response... “Mostly.”

“Touch-based?” he asks.

“Or location,” she says. “Usually the more emotional it is...” she leaves the rest unsaid and he nods.

“I don’t fully get it, but this isn’t place to place talk things,” Rig says before burying his face into his palms and breathing in deep to avoid yelling.

“Later,” she agrees. She waves a holotape she pulled from the safe at him. “Let’s get back to our boys and head back to our room.”

“Okay,” Rig says. He pauses and looks around. “Was this too easy or...?”

_“Yep,_ that’s why we need to leave _ASAP.”_

“Okay.”

They make it back to the hallway, and one quick flash of the holotape is all the need before their quick escape out of Gold Haven and towards their actual hotel. They slip back into their room and Rig makes a beeline to change back into the clothes he got from Dr. Ted. Out of the stuffy suit and back in the familiarity of his flamingo shirt, he feels marginally better...

A knock at the door. He turns to see Nick in the doorway.

“So Echo picked up that holotape,” Nick says. “It might have answers on it if you want to be there when we check it. There’s a terminal out here we can play it on...” He frowns. “But, I want you to understand, there’s no way of knowing what will be on there. It might have nothing we can use, or it might have something you wouldn’t have wanted to know... Be prepared for anything, okay?”

Rig nods and follows Nick out to where Echo and Deacon are crowded at a terminal with Echo putting a holotape in. Nick and Rig stand with them, and Echo hums.

“A video, huh...?” She starts the playback.

_A middle-aged man, with dark hair, a small goatee, glasses, stands in front of the camera in what looks like a large office with ornate double doors leading out and no one else in sight. The man smiles and starts to speak._

_“I’m Trig Millard and this is a confession for one Rig Miller’s next of kin,” he says. He pauses and laughs. “More of a brag, really. After all, my men are watching. Any of you who know Miller say a word to the wrong person, and you won’t live to do it a second time.” He narrows his eyes. “But, considering Miller’s been nosing around where he shouldn’t and I already had to hold his little friend Ricki captive as leverage and leave a random dead look-alike in her place, this should let any of you curious nobodies know what’s happening so you don’t come looking into my business.” He grins. “See, all those crimes one ‘Rig Miller’ has been doing? My doing. You know how easy it is? Just picking a name that sounds similar and sending the police after_ **_him_ ** _instead? Cops come in two flavors. Lazy or bribable. Half of them wanted an easy job, just blame it on Miller. The other half, easy enough to pay off so I can do my work in peace.” He scoffs. “But no, Miller had to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. By the time you see this message, he’ll be dead. And if you try to tell anyone what happened, you will be too.”_

_The door slams open. A man stands in the doorway, blond and ragged and toting a pistol. Rig Miller. “So it WAS you, bastard!”_

**_“SHIT.”_ ** _Trig turns around, pulling out a gun as well. They both shoot each other and promptly collapse._

_The room shakes and the camera falls over. The last image on screen before the video cuts out is Rig Miller, partly obscured by a desk, and bleeding out._

Rig stares at the screen, eyes wide as he struggles to process words. “Wh— What? _That’s_ how it happened? That’s what— Who is _Trig Millard?!”_

Deacon frowns. “Didn’t you say angles are a _trig_ thing...?”

Rig looks away. “I hate that.”

Echo furrows her brow. “...The date on this video. October 23, 2077...”

Nick frowns. “The day of the Great War. If Trig didn’t kill Rig then the bombs might have... But if Rig shot Trig and Trig survived...”

Rig groans. “You think a computer nerd would know how to shoot a gun proper?” He swallows. “Of all the stupid things to— So this guy is the reason Rig disappeared and framed for murder and stuff and whatever? And he’s still alive now?”

“Probably that ghoul the Angels work for,” Echo says.

“But what do they want _now?”_ Rig asks. “It’s not— It’s not like we can do anything about it. Is it? There’s nothing going on now that— That would put _them_ in trouble for—” He waves frantically at the terminal screen. _“—that._ Why go after someone named Rig Miller now when it could have been a coincidence?” He stops and looks at Deacon. “Why— Why have one of the Angels coincidentally look just like Rig Miller...?”

Deacon frowns. “It can’t be a coincidence every time. Something is up here.”

Rig groans. “This is stupid. I— I never should have woken up. I don’t like this.”

Nick shakes his head. “No, no, it’s _good_ you woke up, Rig. We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry. But for now, you need to get some sleep.” He points to Rig’s room. “You had a long night and didn’t sleep last night, so you need sleep now.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Rig groans. “It’s... I dunno... I don’t...” He grimaces. “Feel. Safe.”

Echo looks at Deacon who looks back.

“What?” he asks.

“Did you bring Lil’ Deacon?” she asks.

“Um. No?” He glances at Rig. “Oh— Uh... Don’t suppose you’d...?”

Rig wrinkles his nose. “I’m not... used to sharing a bed with a living person... That’s... I mean...?” He stops to think about it and then shakes his head. “No, no, I... don’t know if I can...”

Echo sighs. “Well, at least lie down with your eyes closed, okay? Even if you don’t sleep, that’ll be better than nothing. We’ll be out here if you need anything.”

Rig nods. “O— Okay...” He shuffles off to his room and lies down in bed. He stares up at the ceiling, mind racing through stop signs and crashing into other thoughts. He shuts his eyes and tries to fight through flashes of worries and anxiety-riddled memories of everything he’s dealt with...

He flips onto his side and tries not to think about how he left his journal in the other room, full of poems about pining nonsense that Deacon’s probably going to be reading because he never told Deacon not to read it...

He sighs and gets back out of bed and wanders into the main sitting area where the other three are still talking.

“Weren’t you going to bed?” Nick asks.

Rig slumps his shoulders and shuffles over to them. He sits in the small space between the armrest and Deacon and then curls into Deacon’s side. “Night,” he mumbles, closing his eyes to sleep.

He doesn’t notice their sudden silence, but he does feel the arm nestle on him protectively, and that’s...

That’s good.

For once, that’s good.

For once, he falls asleep, actually feeling safe instead of just faking it.


	12. What is a Dance Other than a Twist and Turn? What is a Love Other than a Chance to Burn?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon and Rig have a talk. :)

_ He stands in the kitchen, bathed in yellow light and the grainy texture of an old photograph. His bear in his arms, barefoot on the cold tile, just a normal morning... He looks down at the bear and the sunglasses over its eyes and then up again and startles at a familiar face for all that it’s blurry and unrecognizable. _

_ “What are you doing here?” he demands, but the figure doesn’t answer. He looks down to the figure’s hands and sees the man holding a sharp knife. “No— No, you put that down,” he orders, pulling back and holding his bear for protection. “Don’t you dare try anything—” _

_ Garbled words from the figure. Gibberish that his mind interprets as a serpentine attempt to console him. A spider’s attempt to court a fly... _

_ “Shut up,” he scowls. “Shut up! You can’t—!” He drops his bear and it disappears before it hits the ground, and he grabs a nearby towel to wrap around the blade of the knife to wrest it from the figure. “Terrible, horrible—” He yells and pulls again at the knife and feels it dig into his hands through the cloth. “Why can’t you go away?!” _

_ He yanks the knife away and it clatters on the ground just as the world changes around him. A newly built city with rusted, make-shift buildings. Busy streets of people, dressed in clean clothes, dirty clothes, with no faces as they pass. _

_ He turns and smiles when someone walks up to him with a grin on his face and sunglasses masking his eyes. “Deacon,” he greets. _

_ Deacon says something that he doesn’t make out, but he knows it’s witty and it makes him feel safe. Something to do with the jacket he’s wearing, some casual nonsense that’s happy and bright. _

_ He laughs. “Want to... get a soda? Maybe we can find Sunset Sarsaparilla.” _

_ Deacon grins and says something else, just as witty, and he takes his hand, and they walk into some old soda fountain... _

Rig blinks his eyes open, head spinning in the early morning grogginess and the ache in his back from the position he’s sitting in.

...In someone’s lap.

He looks up. In Deacon’s lap. It’s okay then. He watches Deacon’s face, trying to read if Deacon’s awake or not. Maybe not? Or maybe he is and is waiting for him to say something? Or maybe he’s imagining things, like that twitch of what could be an attempt at a smile. Or maybe...

Maybe he should get some sleep in an actual bed. Poor Deacon, having to hold him for who knows how many hours. He just has to... figure out how to get up without waking Deacon. Or maybe he  _ should _ wake Deacon so they can both move to an actual bed? Or maybe...

He shifts, but Deacon’s arms tighten around him, and Deacon tilts his head. Nope, nope, a mistake, Deacon is  _ definitely _ awake now—

“Morning,” Deacon grins. “Early flamingo gets the worm, huh?”

“Shrimp,” Rig says.

“Don’t be rude. You’re smaller than I am.”

Rig pouts. “Not by much...”

“Rig, you weigh 100 pounds soaking wet.” Deacon chuckles. “Maybe we should feed you more after all.” He grunts a bit. “Still, I think you cut off circulation to my legs, so if you wanted to move...”

“Oh— sorry.” Rig slides off Deacon’s lap into the empty space on the couch next to him. “Um— Thank you.”

Deacon grins and lifts his brow. “You say that to all the men you fall asleep on or am I just lucky?”

“Both?” Rig shrugs. “You  _ are _ all the men I’ve fallen asleep on.”

“Really?” Deacon asks. “Never had a late night watching movies with the original Rig and fallen asleep on his shoulder? Or take a nap in college against one of your study buddies? You’re honestly saying someone like you lives for 35 years and never goes on a single date?”

Rig squints. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think people would actually be interested in me?”

Deacon clears his throat. “I’m... pretty sure there  _ are _ people interested in you.”

“...Present tense,” Rig sighs. “I just— Is this that talk you promised me?”

Deacon offers a nervous smile. “It’s later, right? I think it’s about time we do this.”

Rig sighs and leans forward on his knees, staring at the worn carpet of their hotel room. “...I don’t watch movies. They stress me out. I get all... caught up in what’s going on as if it’s actually happening and the anticipation of what’s going to happen makes me anxious. So I never watched movies with Rig unless it was at a theater during the daytime when the tickets were cheaper and I could maintain my disbelief about what’s happening.”

“Huh, so movie dates are out, good to know.”

Rig looks at him. He smiles and looks at the ground again. “What was the— naps in college? Never against a classmate. People liked me, but I had friends but never, um. Liked the idea of sleeping around them. Took a long time to be able to sleep in a room without a door locked. Brother’s fault for that one.”

“You don’t talk about your family much,” Deacon points out. “Did you ever see them after you came here?”

He shakes his head. “M’brother... hurt me a lot. Parents didn’t support it but did nothing to stop it. And still expected me to be perfect to make up for his behavior, so never could have any flaws, else I was as bad as him... Knew they wouldn’t support me being Apollo either so cut them out as soon as I wiped who I used to be from existence.”

“...You’re doing that thing where you share private things about yourself again.”

Rig gives him a look. “...Had another nightmare about him, is why.” He groans. “S’stupid. Everything going on here and I still have nightmares over someone I hadn’t seen since I was 18... Stupid... Hate it...” He sighs. “I’m okay, though, s’just annoying...”

Deacon hums. “Soooo, is that why you’re afraid of dating?”

“...No.” Rig shrugs. “M’not afraid. Just don’t see the point. Not really... Attracted. To people like that. To— To want to... date, usually. You though, you...” He sits up and watches Deacon’s face as he thinks over what to say. “You say... things in a nice way. If— If I love you, it’s... because I love your words more. Which— Which is weird and stupid.” He frowns. “So. No one I met wanted a relationship with someone who... couldn’t love them, um...  _ romantically. _ Not unless they wanted to try and convince me to love them romantically. But I— can’t. So— So I don’t know what you want, but... I like being around you, regardless. I like listening to you. If there’s... a moment I could ever fall in love with you in whatever way I can, it was last night when you said that fun dictionary thing.”

Deacon grins. “Really?  _ That’s _ what won you over? I would have thought it was the Shakespeare at Transparency.”

“What? No.” Rig squints. “Why, when did you...? You like me, right? That’s what you’re implying?” His eyes widen. “That— That  _ is _ what you’re implying... Right...?”

“I— Well.” Deacon rubs the back of his neck. “Glad to know I’m still the king of subtlety.”

“Mirelurk king,” Rig quips. He hesitates. “So... When did  _ you _ start liking me...?”

Deacon goes silent for a moment. “...Oh, you know.” He grins and nudges Rig. “Saw you rolling around in the dirt with Dogmeat and thought ‘that’s the sweaty guy for me.’”

Rig blinks. He darts his eyes around the room, trying to remember when exactly that was... Which instance that was at that...

“...Rig, that was a lie.”

“Oh!” Rig pauses and then squints. “Or was it?”

Deacon chuckles and shakes his head. “We— We’re really doing this, aren’t we.” Not so much a question as a statement.  _ “Why _ are we doing this?” Not so much a statement as a doubtful question.

Rig grimaces.  _ “Are _ we doing this...? I...” He wrings his hands in his lap. “I don’t know why we would... I don’t know how this stuff works. I never— I...” He looks up at Deacon. “I... think I... want to. Assuming we’re talking about the same thing...? Dating...? S’weird, but... My favorite parts of last night were the parts where you were there, so...”

Deacon takes a breath and slowly lets it out. “I’ve been... out of the relationship game for a while... And after what happened to... Well, I told you about Barbara...”

Rig blinks and then grimaces. “I... don’t know what I’m supposed to say here. I want to say something comforting, but I... don’t know how to grieve or how other people grieve to know what to say... Maybe— Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I don’t know how to be a person.”

“Rig,” Deacon starts.

“I could—” Rig continues. “I could never be Barbara and I wouldn’t want to be.” He frowns and leans into Deacon’s side. “I’m not— I’m not here to replace her and I’m sure she was great and wonderful and I’m sorry you couldn’t stay happy together longer and that whatever happened had happened and— and if you’re still— um, what’s the— If you’re not ready to start another relationship then that’s okay I just want you to be happy—”

“Hey, no, relax.” Deacon holds Rig by his cheeks. “Sh-sh-sh. You’ll wake Echo.” He smiles. “Were you speaking off a script or something?”

Rig pouts. “You’re the one who likes Shakespeare. My scripts aren’t nearly as good. Just— Just a False Bard.”

“Did you actually  _ mean _ that, though? Or was that more of you saying things without meaning them?”

Rig sighs. “I... sympathize? That something happened, but I... don’t know how to connect to it emotionally to comfort ple— blenyone.. ‘Specially if I don’t know for sure what, but I know it was bad. But I  _ do _ want you to be happy. You helped me a lot and I like you and you’re my friend and I like it when my friends are happy. I’m... not a... person.” He rests his hands on Deacon’s and moves them away from his face. “I don’t know how to do people things. Sleeping, eating, talking, caring about others. I don’t know how to love people the same way people love people, but I... do love you, so...” He squeezes Deacon’s hands. “So I don’t know if that’s enough words or the right words, but they’re yours to have.”

Deacon grins. “Are you saying this entire conversation was your proposal?”

Rig stares and then looks away. “...Maybe.”

“Yes, Rig, I  _ will _ marry you.”

Rig looks back at him, incredulous.  _ “What?” _

“Too fast?” Deacon grins. “Alright, how about we start with dating and work our way there.”

“Uh???” Rig blinks. “Okay???” He sits there a moment, Deacon’s hands still held in his own. “...Now what?”

“...Good question.” He jumps and pulls his hands away from Rig’s at the sound nearby.

Echo leans in the doorway with Nick just behind her, the two of them smirking.

“How about we check out and get some breakfast to celebrate?” Echo asks.

“You two weren’t exactly  _ quiet _ out here,” Nick adds. “How’s it feel to have a boyfriend?”

Rig blinks. “I have a  _ boyfriend, _ oh my gosh.  _ The prophecy.” _

Echo lifts her brow. “The prophecy?”

“That— That— blarghs.” Rig waves his hands. “You know!  _ The prophecy. _ That I  _ made up just now.” _

“Oh— Right, I thought you may have meant...” Echo shakes her head. “Never mind. Don’t forget your journal when we leave.”

“Oh, right—” Rig gets up and gathers his journal and the pen he left with it. He stares at the journal, brow furrowed, and then looks over at Echo and Nick. “Can... Deacon and I have celebratory breakfast on our own?”

Nick laughs. “You don’t need to ask  _ permission _ to go on a date.”

“Ehhh...” Rig shrugs. “I  _ kinda _ do...”

Deacon chuckles. “Oh, asking the parents if it’s okay to date, huh?” He puts on a voice. “I promise, Mr. Valentine, I’ll treat your son well.”

Echo snorts. “You bring our boy back before 8 PM, got it?”

Rig giggles. “Stooop...”

“Absolutely, ma’am,” Deacon says, standing and flashing a thumbs up. “8 PM and not a second later.”

“And no hanky panky till marriage,” Nick adds.

Rig laughs harder, bending over to hold his stomach. “Stop! Don’t call it that!”

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir,” Deacon grins. “I’m abstinence until I die.”

“If I find out you gave our boy chems,” Echo continues.

“Hugs not drugs, ma’am.”

“You pay for his meal, and you treat him right,” Nick nods. “Don’t even think about breaking his heart.”

Rig lies down on the floor, still giggling.

“Aww, looks like we broke him,” Deacon grins, back to using his normal voice. “You want to grab the suits and we’ll meet you back in Diamond City?”

“Stay safe out there,” Echo says. “We don’t know what the Angels might be planning.”

“No need to tell me twice,” Deacon answers. He steps over to Rig and helps him back to his feet. “C’mon, Rigsby, let’s go find something nice.”

Once Rig is standing again, he pulls Deacon into a hug and then pulls back to smile at him. “Thank you.”

“...Yeah,” Deacon says, voice a tad high pitched. He clears his throat and grins at the other two. “Alright, don’t wait up,” he laughs, ushering Rig out.

“I’m serious about being back by 8!” Echo calls after them. “We’ll assume you need help if you’re not back in time.”

“Got it,” Deacon answers with an okay sign as he walks away.

“Wait,” Rig says as he follows behind Deacon. “This is an actual date?”

Deacon stops and looks back at him. Rig stares at him, blank-faced. Deacon grins. “Oh, you had me going there.”

“...I’m being serious.”

“...Only if you want it to be a date.”

“Oh, good,” Rig breathes out in relief. “Okay, let’s go.”

Deacon opens his mouth to question but laughs instead. “And this is why I like you. Alright, let’s see if we can find someplace serving  _ pancakes.” _

Rig gasps. “Pancakes still exist? That almost makes up for the bloodbug thing.”

“Not going to let that go, are you?”

“It’s one of my fondest, most terrifying memories.”

“...Great.”

* * *

Breakfast... goes great. Everything goes great. It’s like nothing has changed between them. Deacon still says the same kind of jokes at him, and he still listens raptly and writes down his favorite quotes. It’s just like that walk to Diamond City the first time, except with Deacon instead of Tim, and with Rig marginally more lucid. Everything is fine and normal, and if Rig knew that dating could be just like a normal friendship but with a different title, then maybe he could have tried it sooner.

The only confusing thing is what to do about physical contact. Oddly, Deacon seems more put off by it than Rig is, so Rig hasn’t tried holding his hand around other people or anything. Much less anything more intimate than that. As far as anyone knows, they’re just two goofballs wandering the wastelands together, and that’s a bit comforting to think about, even if Deacon constantly looking around for potential threats is a bit  _ less _ comforting...

When they’re on their way back to Diamond City and no one else is around, Rig finally takes hold of Deacon’s hand and Deacon only pulls his hand away for a second before holding Rig’s again.

“So...” Rig says. “I, um...”

“Yeah?” Deacon prompts.

“Ummmm...” Rig leans away for a moment before rocking back towards Deacon. “Was wondering... How does  _ dancing _ work?”

Deacon grins. “Now, when you said you’re not a person—”

“No, no, I... Heck.” Rig sighs. “I. Know what dancing  _ is _ and that people do it for  _ fun, _ but I was told before that, uh...” He groans. “Thaaaat it’s a romantic, sen— sensual thing and it’s. Weird to think about. I could wax poetic about it, easy. I can write a poem and pretend it’s something I’ve done and would do with a romantic partner, but, uh. That’s the kind of bubblegum syrupy poems I’d write for small amounts of cash, not something I actually know I’d enjoy.” He pauses and then leans into Deacon’s side. “Ba— Basically, I saw Nick and Echo dancing last night. Was cute but... Wasn’t sure how that’d work for... us.”

Deacon chuckles. “You need to work on explaining with less words.”

“I  _ like _ words,” Rig pouts.

“I know, I know.” Deacon nudges Rig’s shoulder. “How else did I win you over, huh?” He smiles. “You want to dance?”

“...I dunno. Do you?”

“...Don’t know.”

“Oh.” Rig looks away and the two of them walk in silence for a moment. Rig stops and looks at Deacon who stops beside him. “...Dance with me.”

Deacon grins. “Yeah...?”

“Maybe?” Rig waves his hands in uncertainty. “Muh— Maybe? I don’t know. I don’t know how this works. I don’t know how to dance.”

“Right here?” Deacon prompts. “Right now?”

Rig lets out a soft “nnnn” as he thinks. “While there’s no one around to see us,” he says.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yeah.”

“Normally dances involve some sort of music, you know. It’s quiet, just the two of us.”

“I’ll sing something.” Rig lifts his head and nervously licks his chapped lips—oh, he  _ hasn’t _ been taking care of himself—at Deacon’s look of surprise. “It— It won’t be the best, and it’ll be quiet, but... It might not be the best song to dance to either but— If you wanted to, real quick, just this once, then... I want to, real quick, at least this once, and may— maybe never again...”

Deacon chuckles. “Well, if I might not ever get another chance, how can I say no to a random dance in the middle of the wastelands where only radstags or deathclaws can see us?”

Rig twitches between a smile and a panicked look. “I, uh... don’t know— Where do I put my hands?”

“...Right, okay, here...” Deacon takes Rig’s right hand and places it on his back. He holds Rig’s left hand up and places his free hand on Rig’s shoulder. “You lead,” Deacon says. “I can mirror. Step on less toes that way.”

“Hnn— Okay, okay...” Rig looks down at their feet. “Okay...”

“We’ll teach you ballroom dances later,” Deacon says, drawing Rig’s attention up to his smile. “Could come in handy next time we have an undercover date.”

“Okay...” Rig takes a breath. In the shade of a long abandoned overpass, the cover of concrete pillars and rusted cars, Rig takes a step that Deacon matches, and then another and another... The only thing missing is... He sings, quiet, but just loud enough for Deacon to hear with how close they are.

_ Sunlight _ _  
_ _ Waking up to the morning _ _  
_ _ Daylight _ _  
_ _ Honey, I’ve got to go _

_ Birds sing _ _  
_ _ Tweeting their love songs _ _  
_ _ Singing _ _  
_ _ Honey, I love you so _

_ Every morning with you there _ _  
_ _ Is another day I’m glad to be _ _  
_ _ Alive and knowing that you care _ _  
_ _ And I know that you’re glad to see me... _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Work day _ _  
_ _ 9 to 5 each day _ _  
_ _ Halfway _ _  
_ _ Honey, I want to go home _

_ To see you _ _  
_ _ Waiting makes me feel blue _ _  
_ _ It’s you _ _  
_ _ That I’m working for _

_ Every day when I come home _ _  
_ _ I see you smiling, I know _ _  
_ _ That you’ve been waiting there for me _ _  
_ _ And that we’re all that we need... _

Rig hums the tune of the song, somehow now pressed closer to Deacon as they continue their small dance...

The song ends, and they stop dancing and Rig immediately pulls aways and rubs his neck as he looks at anything but Deacon.

“...Well?” Deacon prompts.

“Hmm?”

“Was it what you were expecting...?”

Rig looks at him. “...No. It— It wasn’t much of anything, was it...? But— But was...” He smiles. “It was fun. I liked it. I don’t get the point, but I liked it.”

Deacon pats Rig’s shoulder. “Glad to help. Now let’s get going, before we’re late and Echo sends Dogmeat to find us.” 

Rig smiles and follows along with Deacon.

“What was that song, anyway?” Deacon asks.

“I dunno,” Rig says. “It’s... It’s one Rig would sing. I think he made it up, or maybe his parents did, but it was... Nice to listen to. And— And I stole it, like I stole his name.” He shrugs. “Because that’s where I am now, so...” He trails off when he notices Deacon looking at something past Rig, or so he assumes. He turns his head to look, but Deacon holds his cheek to keep him from doing so.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how fast are you?” Deacon asks.

Rig furrows his brow. “...Fast enough to run to a vault soon as bombs started falling.”

“That number’ll do,” Deacon says. He pushes Rig in a direction. “Run.”

“What?” Rig jumps at the sound of gunfire and bolts. Not knowing here he’s going or how to get there, just knowing he has to get  _ away. _ He wants to check if Deacon is still with him, but he doesn’t want to look back. 

He runs until he trips off the edge of a slope and tumbles down and lands in water. He pushes himself up, on his hands and knees in the shallow part of the pond, and spits out dirt and grit. He wipes mud from his cheek but probably only makes it worse and then smacks the water’s surface in frustration.

He doesn’t even know what happened or who he was running from. Or where Deacon is now or where  _ he _ is now. Everything was going  _ good _ so why did it have to end?

Dates really are terrible and dancing really is bad...

“Well if it isn’t Janus Blue.”

Rig winces and looks back in at Acute standing above him with a taller, bigger man next to him who pulls Rig out of the water. The big man gets Rig’s arms behind his back and cuffs his hands, and Rig flinches at the  _ click _ of the handcuffs locking in place.

“This is the poetry guy?” the big man asks.

“Sure is, Obtuse,” Acute grins. He grabs at the hem of the now soaked flamingo shirt. “Or should we call you ‘Rig Miller’? Looks like Ninety was  _ right _ on the money after all.”

“What— What do you want?” Rig asks. “How did you find me...?

“Ninety set up a distraction with your ‘date’,” Acute says. “Told us to wait for you to run and then single you out. As for what we want, that’s for the boss to decide.”

“We don’t actually know,” Obtuse explains. “Ninety’s planning something and the boss ain’t in on it but is eating out of his palm.”

Acute shrugs. “Honestly? We think that guy’s a no-good synth. But the boss is a ghoul and sympathizes with him. A real philanthropist. But Ninety wants something and is willing to kill to get it, and if that something is  _ you _ and what’s in the way is your date who is bound to be a bloody corpse by now...”

Rig breathes in sharply. “No, no... Heck...”

“But we don’t exactly trust Ninety,” Obtuse continues. “He let you have that old holotape the boss had hidden. Didn’t exactly tell  _ us _ he told the other staff to let your friends know about it. We think he was trying to ruin the boss’s good reputation.”

“And  _ that _ makes you dangerous,” Acute points out. “Your other friends too... Might just have to send someone after them to make sure they don’t spill a centuries old secret... Whatever it is.”

Rig blinks. “Wait... Did— Did  _ you _ ever watch that holotape...?”

“Course not,” Acute scoffs. “Even the boss hadn’t watched it in years. We just kept it locked up until Ninety moved it to 719 for you and your pals to find. Which is highly spish.”

“You want to live?” Obtuse asks.

“No, not really,” Rig says.

Acute and Obtuse go silent. Acute laughs, nervous and leaning back in concern.

“What the shit, Jan?” Acute asks, still laughing. “You serious?”

“I’ve been alive since 1405,” Rig says. “I’m 9000 years old.”

“That math don’t track,” Obtuse frowns.

“You doing chems we don’t know about, Bluebird?” Acute asks.

“...Yes, I want to live,” Rig corrects.

“Good,” Obtuse says. “Then you listen to the two of us. And when Ninety tries to double cross the boss,  _ you _ take Ninety out, and then  _ we’ll _ let you go free.”

Rig squints. “With— With what...?”

Acute pulls out a revolver and Rig flinches. “Don’t try using it on us, now.” He slips it into Rig’s pocket and Rig starts to wonder just how he’s fitting all his junk in there—wait,  _ heck darnit his journal is going to be ruined—  _ and Acute grins at him. “But soon as that big ol’ double cross Obtuse assures me will happen happens...” He winks. “You know what to do.”

Obtuse pushes Rig forward. “We’re going back to the boss now, before Ninety wonders what’s taking us so long.”

“And not a word that we suspect him either,” Acute says. “Got it?”

Rig winces. “Y— Yeah...”

He walks along where Acute and Obtuse direct him, back to Gold Haven. Rig checks for any sign of Deacon, alive or dead, but even when they pass the bridge they danced under, Rig can’t find any sign of a “bloody corpse”. Perhaps a good sign, or perhaps not...

His legs ache, his head hurts, he’s a mess and none too happy when they make it back to the resort and then  _ still _ have to climb stairs all the way to— oh, only the second floor, that’s okay then. They push him into a room where Ninety is leaning against a table at the back, cleaning blood off a knife and staring at Rig with no expression. Rig flinches and looks instead to the ghoul seated at a desk just in front of Ninety who stands and grins at the sight of him.

“Well, well,  _ you _ must be ‘Rig Miller’,” the ghoul greets.

“...Yeah,” Rig says. He flinches again when Obtuse unlocks the handcuffs, and he rubs his wrists. “And— And you’re...?”

“Angle,” the ghoul says. “You met my Angels, already. Acute, Obtuse. Wait outside.”

Rig watches Acute and Obtuse leave the room and close the door behind them. He looks to Angle and opens his mouth to say something only to close it again.

“What’s the matter?” Angle asks. He steps out from behind the desk. “Would have thought someone with a shirt like  _ that _ would have more moxie and charisma.”

“Are—” Rig swallows. “Are you really... Trig Millard...?”

Angle scowls and approaches Rig. “Now where’d you get an idea like that, huh...?”

“I— I mean...” Rig winces. “Why else would you have been going after anyone related to Rig Miller...?”

“Easy,” Angle says, standing tall and proud. “Because after someone used my name to frame me for crimes I never commited, I wasn’t about to let that happen again.”

Rig punches Angle. In the face.

_ “OW! _ What the  _ shit?!” _ Angle spits out blood and bears his teeth. “Asshole— I’m not the bad guy here. You’re the one stealing identities.”

“You  _ can’t _ be Rig Miller!” Rig shouts, backing away as tears well in his eyes. “No— No, that’s too much, I can’t— No, you’re  _ lying, _ you’ve gotta be!” He points at Ninety. “Who is  _ that, _ then?”

Angle looks back at Ninety who merely lifts a brow and then squints at Rig. “You... know who Ninety looks like...?”

Rig groans. “You think I wouldn’t recognize a face I saw every day for fweckting  _ years?” _

“...Who are you?” Angle asks, standing straight and backing away. “Are you a synth...?” He squints in cautious uncertainty. “No, you... you can’t be...”

“I’m  _ not _ a synth,” Rig hisses. “I’m just  _ really lost _ and  _ really confused _ and go— gosh darnit, if Dee isn’t okay, I’m gonna  _ cry _ and— and— and I might cry anyway— You can’t be— No, no...” He buries his face into his hands. “I can’t have gone through all of this only to find out you really are still alive, no...”

Angle narrows his eyes. “...I don’t buy those crocodile tears. Look here, whoever you are. I didn’t spend the last two hundred plus years rebuilding the reputation Trig Millard made me lose just to have some punk looking like Apollo but pretending to be me ruin this. I’ve got a good service I run here! Sure, my boys got a bit overzealous when we were tracking down Lady to see what she knew, but Ninety worked it out with her, right Ninety?”

“Right, boss,” Ninety says.

“And maybe Obtuse is a bit of a lovable oaf painting those tags where he shouldn’t, but we’re good people.” Angle tilts his head and scowls. “It’s just when little meddlers like you try to get in the way of that, that our business has to get a little more defensive... But it’s not like we  _ killed _ anyone, right Ninety?”

Ninety puts his now clean knife in its holster.

_ “...Right, _ Ninety?”

“Right, boss,” Ninety answers.

Rig whimpers. “I want to go home... I want none of this to have happened. Why can’t I just wake up and have it be 2077 again? I didn’t even get to decorate for Halloween. Because I was waiting for  _ you _ to come home and you never  _ did _ and I have to find out after sleeping for two frundred years that it’s because of...” He groans and waves his hand. “This whole... being  _ framed _ thing you never told me about? And you don’t even believe  _ me _ who  _ I _ am? HECK. Then just let me go back to Diamond City! Tell me Dee’s alright! I don’t want to have finally gotten a boyfriend for the first time in my life only to lose him the same day!”

Ninety looks up, glaring enough to make Rig recoil from the intensity. Angle, meanwhile, looks confused more than anything.

“You  _ talk _ like him,” Angle says. “But you can’t really— I mean... I always hoped Apollo made it to the vault and that maybe 113 was safe and that he was alright, but given what Vault-Tec was like... You can’t really be...”

Rig wipes the tears from his eyes. “What did... How did  _ you _ survive?”

Angle frowns. “Trig Millard shot me in the shoulder. I shot him through the chest. Got to safety when bombs started falling but got enough radiation to ghoulify... But... You...” His eyes soften. “Apollo...? After all these years, I— I never expected to—”

Shouts and gunfire from outside the door. Angle scowls. He pushes Rig to the side. “Hide behind the desk,” he orders. “Ninety, go see what’s happening.”

Rig moves away, and Ninety... doesn’t.

Angle frowns. “Ninety. Go check on Acute and Obtuse. That’s an  _ order.” _

Ninety looks up. “My orders have always been to find out what happened to Apollo Ray and, upon finding him, bring him to the Pits.” The door opens and Gen 2 synths walk in. “And now that you have facilitated that, we have no more use for you.”

“WHAT?” Angle demands, backing away. “But I’m PITS alumni! You told me that’s why they made you to work for me!”

“The Pits was a satellite campus for the Institute,” Ninety says. “And with the Institute gone, they are now able to do what they want without needing approval.” He narrows his eyes and lifts a hand. “You’re an idiot for not seeing that sooner.” He snaps his fingers.

The Gen 2 synths fire.

“Rig!” Rig shouts. He covers his mouth and takes a step back, eyes wide and body shaking as he watches Angle collapse. “No, no, not like this... Never like this...” His head spins, his breathing shallows, he looks to Ninety and Ninety’s cold look as he approaches him.

“Apollo,” Ninety says, soft and soothing despite the stoic expression. “You know you can’t trust anyone here. Your friends have been lying, your ‘boyfriend’... Even Angle was lying to you. It was all a trick from the start to get you here. Even Lady was in on it. I had her send you here in exchange for her life...”

Gun— Gun, there’s a gun in his pocket. Rig pulls it out, dropping several pens, and Ninety doesn’t flinch.

“You don’t actually intend to use that,” Ninety states.

Rig shoves the gun into Ninety’s hands. “Kill me,” he mumbles. “Just— Just kill me. You killed Deacon, didn’t you? I never belonged in this world, not even back then. Just— Kill me.”

Ninety sets the gun on the desk and grabs Rig by the hands. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t belong in this world, Apollo,” he says, squeezing Rig’s hands gently. “...Because you, like me, belong to the Pits.”

Ninety steps aside, and Rig doesn’t have time to react to the sight of yet another electro-shock prod.

His body jolts from pain and burning, and his vision goes dark.


	13. Welcome to Your Alma Mater, We're Glad to Have You Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rig is at the Pits. Someone ought to rescue him.

The seconds all too quickly draw closer to 8 PM. Echo narrows her eyes, sunglasses off in the privacy of her own home.

“Something’s wrong,” Echo says.

Nick, sitting nearby and watching the door, frowns. “Do we head out now or wait for 8 PM?”

“Give it a few more minutes,” Echo says. “Then we go see what happened to our boys...”

Dogmeat drops the teddy bear he’s at work tearing apart—not Lil’ Deacon, thankfully—and he trots over to Echo and rests his head in her lap. She pets him and they sit in tense silence...

Dogmeat’s ears perk up and he barks at the door, running at it. Echo and Nick both jump to their feet, and Echo goes to answer it before anyone even knocks.

Deacon stands in the doorway, holding his side and scowling, with no sign of Rig. “Three guesses what happened.”

“Damn,” Echo ushers Deacon in while Nick heads off to get medical supplies. Deacon limps to the table and takes a seat and Echo follows him over to check his injuries. “Who was it?”

“Got ambushed by that Ninety guy,” Deacon says, lifting his shirt out of the way for Echo to see. “He had Gen 2s with him.”

“What?” Nick asks. He brings over the supplies and sets them down for Echo to use. “You think he’s working for the Institute then?”

“Wouldn’t doubt it if he’s a synth too,” Deacon says. “But the Gen 2s looked off. Like they weren’t actually made by the Institute but maybe someone else...” He tilts his head down at Echo. “You notice that the Sullivan Building Gen 2s looked weird like that too?”

Echo narrows her eyes. “The folks at PITS. The ones who took Nick and Rig...”

“Those ‘stragglers’,” Nick says. “Do you think they’re their own faction?”

“Or originally part of the Institute,” Echo suggests.

“They must have been lying low, either way,” Deacon says. “But I got away, and Ninety nicked himself with his own knife. I told Rig to run, but with my injuries I couldn’t catch up in time. Saw Obtuse and Acute taking him back towards Gold Haven...” He winces at Echo’s work on his aforementioned injuries. “No idea if they know Ninety is working with whoever is camping out at PITS. But it took long enough to get here, I couldn’t say if Rig is still at Gold Haven or if that ‘Pits crew’ got their hands on him.”

“We can stop at Gold Haven first,” Nick says. “It’s between us and Pleasantview anyway. Make sure what happened and where Rig is.”

“We should have stuck with you,” Echo says. “Until we were sure there was no danger. We still don’t know why they let us take that holotape.”

Deacon cracks a nervous smile. “Think this means I won’t get a second date?”

Echo looks up at him. Jabs him with a sitmpak and he winces with a small “owowowow...”

Once Deacon is all patched up, Echo gets up and fetches her sunglasses. She slips them on, fingers sparking with a bit of electricity. 

“Let’s get our boy,” she says.

Deacon takes a breath and then stands. “If we do get that second date, I think we should do something safer. Like exploring a mirelurk nest.”

“I think Rig would like that,” Nick rolls his eyes. “You ready?”

“...Absolutely posituny.” Deacon grins and flashes an OK sign.

“Don’t worry,” Echo says. “We’re saving our boy. Let’s go.”

* * *

A dreamless black, a mind unaware, murmurs of voices too jumbled to understand... Rig’s eyes open and shut with too many seconds between to be fully aware... Lights on him, blurry faces, the feeling of something happening to his arm.

“That should be enough blood for now...”

Rig’s eyes open again and his gaze immediately goes to the needle being extracted from his arm and replaced with gauze, and he stiffens, swallowing as he follows the hand holding the needle, his head feeling like a humid fog.

His clothes are gone, most likely his things too, now replaced with a dirty white jumpsuit of some sort with the right sleeve cut off. He’s strapped to a chair with no idea where he is... No idea who anyone around him is... People dressed in lab coats, taking notes, speaking coldly... Focus, focus...

“—ear me?” one of them asks. They wave a hand in front of his face, and he recoils. “Mr. Ray?”

“Wh— Wha?” Rig asks. “What’s— What’s going on...? Where am I?”

“You’ve been asleep a long time, Mr. Ray,” the person— a doctor? No... —says, trying and failing to keep a light tone. “211 years, in fact. But we pulled you out of that vault you were in and managed to wake you up. You may have had some hallucinations prior to that, but I assure you, they were all a dream.”

“Dream,” he repeats, the lie clear in his throat. Play— Play dumb. But not too dumb. “Okay,” he agrees, ticking off a box not to believe anything these people tell him. “But what’s— what’s going on? Where...?”

“We merely brought you in for testing to ensure you’re exactly the condition you should be,” the person— a scientist? Maybe... —says. “You should be familiar with PITS campus.”

Institute... The Pits... They wanted him for some reason... “Haven’t been here since 1391,” he mumbles.

The scientist blinks and looks to another scientist who shrugs. “Perhaps we ought to jump straight to the psychological testing,” the scientist says. They pull out a clipboard and a pen and unrestrain Rig’s left arm. “Please fill out this questionnaire to the best of your abilities.”

They know he’s left-handed? He furrows his brow and takes the clipboard and places it in his lap. He takes the pen and reads over the questions... Age: _35._ Sex: _No thank you._ What is the last thing you remember before falling asleep?

...Oh no.

His mind races through events. Rig _is_ alive— No, _was_ alive— And Ninety killed him because they were after _him,_ Apollo. It’s his fault Rig is dead— that Acute and Obtuse are probably dead— That Deacon—

He never should have woken up. He never should have left that vault. Everyone he ever cared about, dead or no longer his friends.

And it’s _his_ fault.

What is the last thing you remember before falling asleep? _N/A._

* * *

Echo lets Dogmeat lead them through Gold Haven, Dogmeat sniffing along for Rig’s trail. The hotel, lively only one night ago, now sits empty and quiet with a haunting tension as if there never was a party there... They sneak in, watching for enemies, but nothing seems to be around to jump out at them...

They head up the stairs, to the second floor, and down the hall see the remnants of a fight including two bodies. One large and the other short and sharp. Obtuse and Acute.

They slip into the room the two corpses are in front of and see a dead ghoul in what was a nice suit that Dogmeat sniffs at.

“That must have been Angle,” Nick points out. “I guess Ninety wasn’t on his side after all.”

“You got anything, Bullseye?” Deacon asks Echo.

Echo frowns and looks around. She sees a revolver sitting on the desk and brushes her hand against it, getting the sound of said gun firing in a much different location. “I could... force an echo,” she says. “It was recent, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I’ll get the tissues ready,” Deacon says.

Nick gives Echo’s shoulder a small squeeze. “Good luck.”

Echo sends him a small smile and then takes a deep breath. Her eyes start to glow under her sunglasses, flickering as she sorts through the “echo” of what happened... “Angle ordered Ninety to check on Acute and Obtuse,” she starts, voice soft and distant. “Ninety... says his orders were to bring Apollo Ray to the Pits... The doors opened, Gen 2s entered... Ninety said there was no more use for Angle...”

“That explains the dead ghoul,” Deacon mumbles.

“Shush,” Nick sends him a look.

“Angle was PITS alumni,” Echo continues. “He thought that’s why Ninety was working for him... The Pits was a satellite campus for the Institute... But now that the Institute is gone, they can do what they want without needing approval...”

_“That_ explains why we hadn’t heard from them before,” Deacon adds.

_“Shush,”_ Nick orders again.

_“Rig!”_ Echo shouts all of a sudden. She covers her mouth and takes a step back, eyes glowing bright as her breathing shallows. _“No, no, not like this... Never like this...”_

“Echo?” Nick asks, in sudden alarm. “What are you seeing...?”

Echo’s hand on the revolver grips around it and she picks it up. Nick backs away, but she instead shoves the gun into his hands.

Deacon stiffens. “What is...?”

_“Kill me.”_

“Shit,” Nick curses.

Tears drip down Echo’s cheeks as she pleads with them. _“Just— Just kill me. You killed Deacon, didn’t you? I never belonged in this world, not even back then. Just— Kill me.”_

__

Nick’s eyes widen and he looks to Deacon who has his hands gripped in fists at his sides but is trying not to have a reaction. “Deacon—”

Echo jolts suddenly but catches herself on the desk before she falls. Nick puts the gun away and then holds her by the shoulders. Echo wipes a bit of blood from her nose and then takes off her sunglasses and clings to Nick.

“Echo...” Nick says, holding her close.

“That was Rig,” she says, her breathing shaky as she tries to calm herself. “That was _Rig.”_

Deacon frowns. “Why would he shout his own...?” He winces. “Oooh, _damn,_ that’s— You’re _kidding.”_

Nick squints. “Are you saying that _Angle_ was _Rig Miller?”_

“As far as our Rig knows,” Echo says. She grips onto Nick’s coat and scowls. “Ninety... He had a few Gen 2s with him... They used an electrical shock on Rig.”

“Again,” Nick frowns. “But if they want him alive then...”

“They know that it won’t kill him,” Deacon surmises. “They know what happened to him in 113. _That’s_ why they’ve been after him.”

“Ninety claims that Rig _belongs_ to the Pits,” Echo spits out. “We need to get him out of there. Before they do who knows what.” She looks down when Dogmeat nudges her side, and she reaches down to pet him. “Dogmeat, you’re going to go back to Diamond City and find Ellie, okay? I’m going to put a note on your bandana telling her where we’re going and if we need backup.” She looks up at the others. “Anyone got a pen and paper...?”

Deacon hums and walks over. He picks up one of a few pens on the ground and a familiar journal. “Got you covered...”

“Rig’s journal?” Nick asks. “Did it fall out of his pocket...?”

Deacon opens the journal and flips through several half-torn pages of “Deaco” and “nisms” and what seem to be the starts or ends of love poems. “Hmm. No, I don’t think it was.” He pulls out a blank page and hands it and the pen to Echo to write. “At least I know what to look for as a Christmas gift...” He slips the journal into his pocket.

“...You okay?” Nick asks.

He grins, however pained it clearly is. “Oh, just dandy. My new boyfriend of less than one day thinks I’m _dead_ and wants to _die_ and is being _experimented_ on by feral scientists we have next to no information on. What else is new?”

“We’ve done harder things,” Echo says. She crouches down and pins the note to Dogmeat’s bandana. “If we could get into the Sullivan Building, we can get into the PITS campus.” She stands up and puts her shades back on. “We just have to get there before it’s too late.”

* * *

The scientists at the least have the courtesy to let him look away when the needles come back out and they take more blood. His body aches from anxiety and fear, but he knows to keep quiet and just let it happen.

He cringes at the thought. Falling back on the habits his brother forced him to have. Disgusting...

That said, the scientists don’t seem to be feeding him... or giving him water... Rig’s tried to count the hours between the blood samples, but he loses track too easily. Shouldn’t they be giving him something...? To help replenish blood whatevers...? It’s... as if they know this won’t kill him... Or at least suspect it won’t...

As if they know what Vault-Tec and Transparency did to him...

A scientist walks up to him, followed by more of this Gen 2 synths, and they remove Rig’s restraints but make it clear through body language that Rig is not to try escaping. Just a quick “this way” and Rig stumbles after his captors through the old, now unfamiliar halls of the PITS Campus... Still with some of the old banners on the walls reading “FUCK CIT” and “PITS CREW FOR LIFE”... Rig doesn’t have time to think about it before he’s taken into an old classroom, newly converted into some type of math lab with a worrying amount of numbers and equations on the boards lining the walls.

“Your school records indicate you were at the top of your class,” the scientist says. “And your psychological test shows that you likely retained much of this knowledge, so part of your duties here will be to aid us with our experiments. You will start by doing whatever adjustments are needed to improve upon the math we have here.”

Rig furrows his brow. “What— What am I doing this for?”

“To make up for the research you took and destroyed on creating artificial organic beings,” the scientist says. “We could have used that to improve on synth designs.”

Rig shakes his head. “I don’t... want to...?”

The scientist frowns. _“You_ don’t get a choice. You’re not even human.”

Rig jumps a bit. “What...?”

“Did you think you were?” the scientist asks. “Your blood tests show that your DNA is heavily altered from that of a standard human. You’re no more a person than a synth or a ghoul or even a _fungus._ You’re only useful now as a source of DNA for our projects and, provided you pass this test fixing this math, aiding with our experiments as well...”

Rig hesitates. “And— the incentive to do well on this test is...?”

“If you do well, you won’t be strapped to a chair as a 24/7 blood factory and instead will get breaks to do work alongside actual people.”

Rig breathes in sharply. “Right...”

The scientist smiles. “See, we knew you were smart. There’s many notes about you left behind from before the war. PITS star student, Mr. Apollo Ray. Funny how you showed up and replaced a rising star after her freshman year... What was her name...?”

Rig stiffens.

The scientist says a name.

The next thing Rig realizes, he’s being pulled off from the scientist whose face is bloody and nose is broken. Rig looks down the blood on his knuckles and under his nails and flinches.

“Hypothesis confirmed,” another scientist says into a recorder. “Do not say previously noted name within hearing range of Subject Ray.” The scientist flags someone down. “Ninety—” Rig looks to see the scientist talking to the jerk with the original Rig’s face turned cold. “—you’re assigned to keeping Subject Ray in line by any means sans death. Get him cleaned and then return him here to continue his test.”

Ninety nods and clamps onto Rig’s arm to drag him off. Rig grimaces and struggles to keep up to Ninety’s pace, but they soon get to a restroom and Ninety shoves him up to a sink with a grunt of “wash your hands.”

Rig looks up at his reflection and how pale he looks and he winces. They _are_ taking too much blood.

“Hey.” Ninety pats his arm. “Don’t waste time.”

“Nng.” Rig slaps Ninety’s hand away. “Don’t touch me. After what you did—”

“They’re only being lenient because it is your first day,” Ninety scowls. “If you continue to be disobedient, we both will get in trouble and they may choose to dispose of both of us.”

_“Good,”_ Rig scowls. “What do I have to live for? And you— You deserve to die. You— You took away _everything_ from me.”

Ninety scowls as well. He grabs Rig’s wrist and ignores Rig’s pitiful attempts to pry his hand off. Ninety turns on the water and grabs the bar of soap and washes Rig’s hand for him despite Rig smacking his arm.

“Why would you even give us that holotape?” Rig growls, still trying to push Ninety off. “Let go—”

“We knew there was someone after Angle’s trail,” Ninety states. “I had been hoping to manipulate them into thinking this was Trig Millard and so would have reason to kill him for us. But then that someone turned out to be _you.”_ He lets go of Rig’s hand and catches onto the other one to clean it as well. “And that complicated things since my primary orders were to bring Apollo Ray to the Pits.”

“How would you even recognize me?” Rig demands. “I don’t understand.”

“Because we suspected Angle would know about your whereabouts,” Ninety growls, scrubbing Rig’s hand harder than he needs to and making Rig wince. “He talked about everything about you _except_ that.”

“Then why did you flirt with me?” Rig asks. “Why kill Deacon?” He squeaks when Ninety spins Rig around and pins him to the sink with a harsh look.

“...You’ll be safer in here than you would have been out there with him,” Ninety says. “I can keep you safe. You just have to do what you’re told. You’re good at following instructions, aren’t you?”

Rig frowns. “...Terrible.”

“Then learn to,” Ninety orders. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

“I hate you,” Rig spits out. He yelps and feels his cheek where Ninety slapped him. “Ow—” He looks up, tears in his eyes, and for a split-second he sees a wave of regret on Ninety’s face before it turns hard again. “...I want to go home. I don’t want to be here. I didn’t leave school just to be dragged back to a worse version of it to do mad science for a bunch of idiots.”

“We’re not the idiots here,” Ninety growls.

“You really are!” Rig argues. “Especially you! You’re the one letting them own you! You’re the one saying they own _me!_ You don’t need to live like that! People should not be owned.”

“Neither of us are _people_ to them,” Ninety reminds. “Neither of us are _human._ I wasn’t even supposed to be _made._ They created me without the Institute’s permission to track _you_ down when the Institute denied their idea to use you as a means to improve synth quality. _I_ only exist because _you_ exist.” When Rig averts his gaze, Ninety reaches behind him and turns off the faucet. “Face it, Apollo. You fell into the Pits like the rest of us. Did you really think you could crawl your way out? We’ll be here to drag you back into the mud every time. You could at least be grateful I’m trying to help you.”

Rig continues to look away. “...I want my shirt back.”

“That disgusting flamingo one?” Ninety asks, nose wrinkled. “If it’ll make you behave I can ask for it before they burn it with the rest of your things.”

“...I’ll behave if I get it back.”

“Deal.”

* * *

“So if we go in using disguises...”

“I can’t wear a disguise. I’d still have to wait outside.”

“But we can’t go in guns blazing...”

“We don’t even know where their entry point is.”

“We need more intel. We can’t do anything until we know what we’re doing.”

“Can we afford to wait that long...?”

Echo, Nick, and Deacon stand around the kitchen in a home once owned by the late Rig Miller and the currently captive Rig Miller. The Pits is within reach, and yet they’re still so far away from a solid plan of attack.

“...If we had a distraction,” Echo suggests. “And a map of the campus...”

“But that still— Shh.” Deacon looks towards the front at the sound of something just outside the door. The three of them stand guarded, hands on their weapons, as the door opens...

A head of red hair peeks in. “Oh, good,” Mongoose says. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“Mongoose?” Echo asks. “What are you doing here?”

Mongoose steps inside, looking around at the three of them with a frown. “Where’s Rig...?”

“Busy,” Echo says. “What are you...?”

“...You found my sister,” Mongoose says. “And she thought I was dead the entire time. But we’re both still alive and she has herself a boy out in Buttonwood and it’s thanks to my baby boy I found that out. I figured I’d stop by here and see if you came back ‘round to thank you before meeting up with Victoria again...” She narrows her eyes. “...She _did_ say how some asshole in a mask threatened her and sent Rig over to Gold Haven...?”

Nick frowns. “You said before you knew something about that crime lord... Did you mean Angle or someone else?”

“Yeah, I meant Angle,” Mongoose says. “He popped up as the new owner of the hotel where the actual Rig and I were trying to track down Trig Millard. I stayed far away from that asshole but I knew it had to be Trig, and that he must have done something to Rig...”

Echo furrows her brow. “...One of Angle’s lackeys double crossed him and kidnapped our Rig. Took him to the Pits. We’re trying to get in and rescue him.”

“What?” Mongoose asks. “You mean PITS campus? I’ve checked that place out on occasion. There’s nothing there but junk and most of the useful items are long gone.”

“...Really?” Echo asks. “But PITS also had the Sullivan Building, right...? Is there anywhere else...?”

“I mean, I’m not the one who went to school there,” Mongoose says. “Rig and Apollo both did, a few years apart...” She nods towards the bedrooms. “You go into Bright Eyes room at all? He might have an old map of the campus and all their owned properties still.”

“I’ll go check,” Deacon says. “Didn’t see one before...”

“It’d be in one of his old class catalogs,” Mongoose says. “I think he kept them in a box under his bed. I think he regretted quitting and thought about going back before, but...”

Deacon hums and heads to Apollo’s old bedroom. Mongoose watches him leave and then frowns at the other two.

“Who took him and what do they want from him?” Mongoose asks.

Echo and Nick share a look. “...You remember the Institute?” Echo asks.

“Yeah?”

“They used PITS as a satellite campus,” Echo says. “And so there were some folks still there after whatever happened to the Institute...”

Mongoose winces. “And... Apollo Ray is one of the well-known alumni... He complained all the time how they kept sending him letters asking for his old research. Never did told me why he quit before getting his doctorate, but if it’s something those assholes want... But how do they know about him?”

“Who knows?” Nick sighs. “It’s the Institute. Or what’s left of it. But we need a way to get in and rescue Rig before they hurt him or brainwash him or whatever they have planned.”

Mongoose walks up and lowers her voice. She nods towards the bedrooms again. “Did... Those two...?”

Echo nods. “Dating.”

“And is he the type to move heaven and hell to get his loved ones back?”

“I promise, he is.”

“...You need help?” Mongoose stands tall and grins. “I didn’t take on the name Mongoose just because of literary jokes. I lived this long and...” She frowns. “Lady told me he knows about Transparency... I regretted bringing folks there for years, especially him. He was the first one Victoria and I brought there, and the youngest one at that. He suffered from them the longest, and I owe it to him and the Railroaders to help him for real. Whatever you need me to do, just as long as it’s to save my baby child.”

Nick hums. “Well... We were just discussing needing a distraction...”

“Done,” Mongoose nods. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Hey,” Deacon greets as he walks back in with a catalog in hand. “I found that map.” He brings it over and opens the catalog to an old map of Pleasantview and the surrounding area. “Here’s the main campus...” He points at the collection of buildings in the middle of Pleasantview.

“It was definitely the main campus that was abandoned,” Mongoose says. “Just some radroaches and the occasional radscorpion there.”

“So where could they have gone...?” Echo asks. She skims the list of buildings and their locations on the map and then frowns. “Where’s the Sullivan Building...?”

Deacon flips the page. “Voila.”

“...Cherbridge campus?” Echo reads.

Deacon nods. “Just outside Cherbridge, but close enough to be the Cherbridge campus. With the Sullivan Building strategically closer to the city too! Fancy that!”

“...Cherbridge,” Nick repeats. “Where Transparency, Inc. is?”

“Oh gods,” Echo groans. “Not them _again.”_

* * *

Echo, Nick, and Deacon stand out of sight of the Gen 2s patrolling the outside of the Cherbridge campus and quietly go over the plan while they wait for Mongoose to hold up her side of things...

“You know,” Nick comments, “for an Institute campus, I expected something more advanced.”

“With how the Sullivan Building looked?” Deacon asks. “The Pits is probably understaffed and underpaid.”

“And hopefully easier to break into,” Echo adds. “From what Ninety implied, they were just an afterthought to the Institute... But either way, we need to clear out the demon nest and get our boy back.”

“Really love this sequel energy we’ve got,” Deacon chuckles. “One big huge adventure taking down the Institute and then the sequel taking down a similar but not as high stakes antagonist? Never as good as the original, is it?”

“Not as high stakes?” Nick asks. “Because we’re not liberating synths? But instead your _boyfriend?”_

Deacon grimaces. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“He’ll be fine,” Echo assures. “They can’t kill him. 113 proved that much.” She frowns. “Whatever else they want with him, though...”

Someone hidden in the dark guns down the Pits guards. This draws more guards out after the source. They watch as Mongoose leads the pit vipers away from the campus and into the night.

“Good luck,” Echo whispers retroactively.

“Let’s go,” Deacon says. He grabs onto Nick’s arm and pushes him forward, and Nick scowls and pushes back. Echo grabs onto Nick’s other arm and also helps push him forward.

The lab coats “borrowed” from Transparency will hopefully be enough to fool them... They get to the entrance, now unguarded... And they walk in only to be met with a few other scientists lounging around.

“Uh, who are you?” one of them asks them.

“We picked up the synth Nick Valentine as a prisoner,” Echo states, voice steady and expression cool.

“Get your hands off me you damn, dirty scientists,” Nick spits out.

“...Right,” the scientist that addressed them says, clearly not buying it. “You must be from another division or something... But if you’re from the Pits, then you know the password to get in, _right?”_ The dangerous tone and casual drawing of laser pistols show they only have one chance to get the password right.

Echo shouts out “FUCK CIT.”

“Damn straight!” another scientist agrees.

“Alright, you’re Pits crew alright,” the scientist that addressed them says. “Continue with your duties.”

“Keep moving,” Deacon orders Nick, and he and Echo keep pushing a struggling Nick through...

“I can’t believe that worked,” Nick mumbles.

“I can’t believe their password is actually ‘fuck CIT,’” Echo comments. She hums. “Actually... No, yeah, I can.”

“I expected some sort of keypad or bio-scanner to get in,” Deacon adds. “They really _were_ an afterthought for the Institute. They can’t even afford to clean their floors.”

“The red-headed stepchild of the Institute, huh?” Echo frowns. “Alright, let’s find out where they’re keeping our boy.”

Meanwhile, in the Cherbridge “dorm rooms”, Rig lies on his side with his back to Ninety who watches him. Rig mumbles to himself about how the actual dorms are on the other side of the campus, so of course trash goes into the old offices instead, why wouldn’t they?

“...If you’re not going to sleep,” Ninety says, “Angle would often say how wonderful your poems were and how you can make some on the spot.”

Rig scowls. “Foolish Ulysses, Candles Kindled Yearn Over Uselessness.”

Ninety narrows his eyes. “You’ll come to like me eventually.”

“Stockholm syndrome isn’t real, it was invented as a means to disregard genuine concerns about the incompetence and maliciousness of those in authority and subsequently unjustly used as a means to explain why people get stuck with their abusers—”

“Shut up,” Ninety groans. “Just shut up.”

Rig frowns and tugs his flamingo shirt tighter around him. No sort of blanket, no pillow, just a hard mattress that might as well be a soft table. And his chest still in pain from the most recent electrical shock. A bunch of holes in his sore, right arm. At least they finally fed him, but how they expect him to sleep under these circumstances is a mystery...

...Rig flips over and faces Ninety. “You have a crush on me, for some reason,” he surmises.

Ninety sputters and pulls back. “No— Of course not. That’d be beneath me— That’d get me destroyed.”

“But you do,” Rig says. “Because you’re a person and people have emotions.”

Ninety looks away. “Do you have a point to this?”

“I’ll make up a poem about whatever you want if you answer a question for me.”

“...Do the poem first.”

“Alright.”

“...I want a love poem as if you actually did love me.”

Rig wrinkles his nose. “Y— Y’know, they usually say to write what you know...”

Ninety scoffs. “You know love, don’t you?”

“...Hardly.”

“...And does this still make _you_ a person, not being able to love?”

“...When we first met, it was resolute,” Rig says. “That the things you say could render me mute. A perfect, charming, word with grace, entered and felt so out of place. Amidst an oasis from a world destroyed, you seemed more angelic than those devoid. Even a hall of beauty could not surpass your presence and form that could outclass anyone I met before... To which I’m left only to adore. Only this and nothing more.”

Ninety fights back a smile. “And what is your question...?”

“...Did...” Rig watches Ninety’s face. “Is Deacon actually dead...?”

Ninety’s smile disappears.

Rig waits patiently...

“...Yes.”

“...You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“...Go to sleep.”

Rig sighs and flips back over to stare at the wall. Ninety’s lying. Deacon’s alive. He has to be.

He got lucky with everyone else he thought was dead, after all...

* * *

The further in they go, the more obvious it is that the Pits is heavily understaffed and, in its current state, incredibly easy to take down. Security is awful with next to no guards and none of the high tech security cameras one might expect from an Institute campus, nothing is organized, no one knows what they’re doing... Part of their mission plans, as uncovered while trying to dig up anything they could use to find Rig, includes finding and enlisting help from those in the Commonwealth who might happen to know a thing or two about science or technology... “Apollo Ray” is at the top of that list for the added element of using his “heavily altered DNA” and blood samples for experiments, but people like Echo’s friend Danny appear on the list as well... It’s like they’re making things up as they go and are hoping for one of their targets to pull them out of “the pits” so to speak.

“I don’t know what’s more insulting,” Deacon scoffs. “That Ninety kidnapped Rig for the Pits or that the people running this place are so incompetent.”

_“Right?”_ Echo asks as she works on wiping information from the Pits’ files. “The hand-me-down and make-shift Institute tech is one thing... More like make- _shit.”_

“I almost feel bad taking this place down,” Nick says. “This level of disorganization, they’re bound to collapse in on themselves with or without us.”

“If we could speed the collapse, I’d feel better,” Deacon reminds. “Though not with us in it. We still need to find Rig...”

“Right,” Echo says. “Let’s keep moving.”

“And you’re sure this wasn’t a trap?” Nick asks. “That they legitimately thought you were just scientists from another part of the building they didn’t recognize?”

“Yep,” Echo answers. “This place is full of idiots.” She motions out of the room and Deacon salutes and then pokes his head out to make sure the coast is clear. They exit and continue on...

“So I did the analysis on Ray’s blood,” comes a voice from a nearby room. The three of them go silent and listen in... “It’s not only less than human, it’s incompatible with other humans. It wouldn’t take and would likely harm another human to inject them with it...”

“Oh, so a suitable poison.”

“I mean, no more than any other animal’s blood you might inject into a human. But it means we can’t use it to induce immortality like we were planning. We have inconclusive results in regards to using it as the base for our new line of synths. _And._ His math is, uh... _slower_ than we’d want. But that might be due to lethargy, so we’re going to experiment with stimulants within the next hour...”

“I thought we wanted to avoid getting drugs in his system...”

“Well, we can’t use his blood right now anyway, so that doesn’t matter. If his productivity is still subpar and we can’t find any other way to use him, we could always lock him in storage again. Knock him out for another 211 years.”

“Disappointing. All that wasted time to obtain him...”

“There’s still other options we can try...”

Echo pulls out Deliverer. She peers into the room—just the two of them...

She makes quick work of them and then shuts the door before anyone can notice... 

“Okay,” she says. “We need to get serious. Nick and I are going to set things up to knock this place down.”

“Dominoes,” Deacon hums. “Always wanted to play with those.”

“You’re going to find Rig,” Echo orders, pushing him down the hall. “You have an hour to meet up with us either with him or to get us to help you get him, and then we’re getting out of here and sending the Pits to the pits of hell.”

“Remind me to ask you to join my theater troupe,” Deacon says. He frowns. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Nick says. “Now go find your boy.”

Deacon nods and hurries off. Echo and Nick head down another hallway.

They’re taking the Pits down.

* * *

There’s a knock at the door, and Rig listens to Ninety get up to answer it. There’s some whispered conversation Rig can’t decipher, followed by Ninety’s harsh voice stating “Apollo.”

Rig sighs and sits up. “What...?” He winces when Ninety grabs his arm and pulls him up.

“You’re going to testing,” Ninety says, pulling him out of the room after the scientist that knocked on the door. “The scientists want to see if injecting stimulants will improve your productivity.”

“...Inject?” Rig squeaks.

“...Do you have a problem with needles?”

“I mean,” Rig winces. “The bloodletting was bad enough...”

“That— That’s not what bloodletting—” Ninety sighs, annoyed. “Too bad. You agreed to this.”

Rig cringes. “Y— Yeah, no, I... Nnn... Didn’t get much sleep.”

“I told you to,” Ninety counters. “It’s not our fault if you didn’t.”

“I just...” Rig slumps his shoulders and looks around at the dizzy world... He’d probably keel over if Ninety weren’t holding onto him. ...He might still keel over.

He rag dolls, startling Ninety into letting him go, and he crashes to the ground.

“Hey!” Ninety orders. “Get up!”

“Oh, god dammit,” the scientist curses. “How much blood did those idiots take? We’re supposed to space out the drawings so this doesn’t happen!” She sighs. “Ninety, bring Ray to Dr. Maynard for examination.”

Ninety scoops Rig into his arms and wordlessly carries him off.

A pair of sunglasses watch from nearby and sneak after the two.


	14. Mortal Coil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Echo and Nick enact their plan to take down the Pits. Deacon goes to rescue his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to user DireDigression

Nick and Echo sneak through the campus in search of anything they can use to clear out the place. Explosives seem like a good idea but with only two of them to find and place explosives... Or they could shoot everyone, though that’s a bit more grisly... Or— Echo stops and Nick stops behind her, and they watch a shadow as it moves around the corner, its owner slow and quiet. Echo edges to the corner and peeks around.

Mongoose approaches, only partially injured but gun ready if she needs it. Echo whistles a soft note and Mongoose sees her and quietly slips around the corner up to the two of them.

“Took care of those ‘guards’ of theirs,” Mongoose whispers. “Whoever made ‘em? Not good stuff. Like shooting tissue paper. And then getting in here, no one was around to stop me... They don’t even seem to realize their guards are gone.”

Echo frowns. “So they were mostly for show...?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Nick frowns. “They overpowered  _ me.” _ He hums. “Then again, I was also trying to make sure they didn’t hurt Rig. Probably got me when I wasn’t looking.”

“Yeah,” Mongoose nods. “Almost got me when I wasn’t looking, but these guys fall easy otherwise. Rig always said that scientists don’t know how to fight if they don’t have toys to protect them. Especially PITS scientists since they’re too busy wanting to fight CIT that if one of their own were to hit ‘em, they wouldn’t know what to do.” She frowns. “Hey, any idea who’s in charge here? I want to take ‘em out personally...”

“I don’t think anyone is,” Echo says. “Everything’s really disorganized here. They’re looking for someone to lead, but...”

“Not our Rig, though,” Mongoose says. “When he left PITS the only thing he kept from them was sentimental shit. He hates this place almost as much as he hated CIT.” She hums. “You’d think the folks here would be fighting for the leadership position...”

“So that’s why they’re kidnapping people,” Nick says. “So they don’t fight each other for the position themselves...”

Echo hums and then grins. “What if we cause a bit of in-fighting after all...?”

Mongoose grins. “Ooh, I like this...”

* * *

“How much blood did those idiots take?” Dr. Maynard demands as Ninety lies Rig out on an exam table. “God dammit, Ninety, you should have said something. You know how poor communication is here.”

“Mm,” Ninety answers, avoiding Dr. Maynard’s gaze.

Dr. Maynard snorts. “Well, wait at your usual post while I examine Mr. Ray.”

“My previous post was with Angle, Dr. Maynard,” Ninety reminds.

“Oh.” He frowns. “Then. Go get something from the cafeteria for Mr. Ray to eat once I get him conscious.”

“Yes, Dr. Maynard,” Ninety says, slipping out of the office.

Dr. Maynard watches him leave and then slips up beside Rig and pokes him. “That said, how conscious  _ are _ you? I don’t want to waste supplies if you’re faking.”

Rig groans. “I don’t know what a... plabs. Place. Don’t touch me.”

“It’s not blood loss, is it? You’re just delirious from pain and lack of sleep.” Dr. Maynard sighs. “Alright, let’s see what I’ve got...” He heads off for a second and returns with a syringe and stabs it into Rig’s side. “Well, I suppose we should continue the experiments as planned... There’s some I wanted to try out while you’re here...” He checks the clock. “That shouldn’t take too long to take effect... And after it passes, I’ll let Ninety feed you and then take you back to testing as scheduled.”

_ “Math,” _ Rig hisses.

“Yes, yes, math,” Dr. Maynard sighs. “You got everything right, from what I understand. Improved on some of the work the others had. But if you were that slow with the calculations...”

“Headspace,” Rig mumbles. “Head mlath. No calc— calculoto.”

Dr. Maynard blinks. “But there was no work shown. We thought you used the provided calculators...”

“...Huh?” Rig squints up at him. “...There were working calculators?”

Dr. Maynard blinks and then grins and grabs a nearby clipboard. “I  _ see. _ So perhaps you’d like to help me with some of  _ my _ work while you’re here...”

Rig wrinkles his nose and then turns over onto his side. “Night.”

Dr. Maynard scowls. “Look—”

There’s a knock at the door, and Dr. Maynard looks to it. He walks over and pushes the door open. “Yes...?” He looks over the scientist standing there and frowns. “Do I know you?”

“Nah, I’m a healthy boy,” the scientist says with a charming grin. “I don’t need to stop by this way too often. But, uhh, Dr... Harriet... asked for you in the.... Offices...”

Dr. Maynard squints. “Dr. Harriet...?” He frowns. “You mean that brunette with the dimples?”

“No, the... blonde. With the eyes?”

“Oh!” Dr. Maynard mumbles under his breath something like “when did we hire her again?” He steps past the other scientist. “Watch Mr. Ray while I’m gone. Ninety will be back with food for him soon, but don’t let him feed him or take him until I say to.”

“Right, right,” the scientist says, catching the door to walk in. He walks in and up to Rig, pausing a moment to read the label on the empty syringe on the table next to Rig. “...Hey.” He puts a hand on Rig’s shoulder, only to have Rig slap it away. “Aw, Rigbert...”

“Stupid dream sallucinations,” Rig mumbles.

The scientist hums. “...If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended—that while you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not rephrend. If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest Puck, if we have unearnèd luck now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue, we will make amends ere long. Else the Puck a liar call. So good night unto you all. Give me your hand if we be friends, and  _ Deacon _ shall restore amends.”

Rig looks up at him, eyes blinking into focus. “Deacon...?”

Deacon grins. He holds a finger over his lips and shushes him. “Quiet. I’m undercover.”

“You’re alive,” Rig utters, hushed and awed. “Or I’m hallunicating. Or both.” He reaches for Deacon’s hand but pulls back at the last second. “I— I mean...”

Deacon holds Rig’s hand and helps him sit up. “Can you walk?” he asks. “We need to get you out of here. Before Ninety comes back.”

Rig winces. “Might— Might need help. Might be slow.”

“That’s fine,” Deacon says. He helps Rig stand and helps prop him up. “Come on...”

“So I was right,” Rig mumbles. “He— He didn’t kill you. He—” Rig sniffles and then rubs his eyes as he breaks down crying and clings to Deacon’s side. “You’re okay— You’re okay...”

“Aw, bud,” Deacon holds Rig and rubs his back. “I was worried about you too. But this isn’t the time for this. Someone will be back any minute and we need to get out of here before they see us. Else they might actually kill me and hurt you more...”

Rig swallows a gulp of air and nods. He holds onto Deacon’s arm, and walks alongside him, keeping up as best as he can. He looks around as they go, trying to place where they are in the campus, but everything looks different from how he remembers.

“You ever been to the Cherbridge campus?” Deacon whispers.

“...Oh, this is Cherbridge,” Rig frowns. “No, I’ve only been to the Pleasantview campus and some of the off-campus buildings... So that’s why I don’t know where anything is...”

“Too bad,” Deacon says. “It’d be easier to navigate if at least one of us knew the place.”

“No maps?” Rig asks. He grips tighter to Deacon’s arm and winces. “Heck—”

Deacon stops and looks over Rig. “What’s wrong...?”

“Maynard... something...” Rig’s grip loosens and he drops to his knees. “Heck...”

“Did he inject you with something?” Deacon asks. “Do you know what?”

“I— I think...” Rig holds his side and grips the ground, tears in his eyes. “Think it... Was good I sleeped two hundred years... ‘stead of being awake for those death spearmints.”

“Will it hurt you if I move you?” Deacon asks.

“Dunno,” Rig says. “Try maybe...?” He winces when Deacon scoops him into his arms, and he grips onto Deacon’s lab coat as Deacon carries him away. “Think maybe... Body changed while unconscious blecause of Transparency drugs, right? Body stayed unconscious to repair from all that stuff Vault-Fault did since was still changing or whatever. So didn’t feel all that pain then... Only woke up later because... something about tea... And then ‘lectrocution stuff knocked me out but body done changing so woke up in pain but numb too... Too hurty to feel other hurty... Make sense?”

“Yeah,” Deacon says, looking around constantly. “Keep your voice down but keep talking, okay?”

“Okay,” Rig says. “And— And think body’s... trying to repair all stuff here but... more damage keeps happening. Awake for all of it... Not keeping up... too much blood loss, too little sleep and food and water, never got the ‘cution fixed, whatever Maynard did... Poison? Drugs? We just don’t know...”

“It was...” Deacon struggles out an attempt at a chemical name.

“...NEO-74?”

“Sure?”

“I don’t know what that is but we can probably assume poison?”

_ “Fuck.” _

“No, thank you.” 

Deacon looks down at Rig to find him more relaxed but also staring in concentration. “...Are you okay now...? Did it pass?”

“Y— yeah, I think so...” Rig lets Deacon set him back on his feet, and he wobbles for a moment before righting himself. “Y— Yeah, I... feel more clarible. Clarity— Mind fog not so fog fog.” He stops and blinks and then sighs and shakes his head. “Close enough.”

“Great,” Deacon smiles. “In that case—” He cuts short when the double doors to the side open up and someone walks out carrying a tray of food.

Ninety looks up at them and double takes before dropping the tray with a growl of  **_“You!”_ **

“Oops, it’s leaving o’clock!” Deacon grabs onto Rig’s hand. “Time to run!”

“Right— Right, right, right,” Rig runs after Deacon, with Ninety chasing after them.

Meanwhile, in the offices, another scientist in sunglasses chats with a blonde woman as Dr. Maynard walks in. The woman in glasses slips away, and Dr. Maynard approaches the blonde woman.

“So, what did you need?” he asks.

The woman grins. “Good timing, Doctor. It seems finding someone to take leadership is taking too long, so I was thinking of taking leadership myself.”

“What?” another person shouts. “You’re under qualified!”

Dr. Maynard frowns. “That’s right.  _ I’d _ be a better fit to lead.  _ I _ have seniority.”

“I’ve been working here longer than you,” a fourth argues.

“I’m older!” Dr. Maynard counters.

A fifth scientist walks in. “Hey I just passed by the cafeteria? Apparently Connors is trying to be the ‘Pits Boss’ and there’s a fist fight happening now for superiority? What’s the protocol for that?”

Dr. Maynard huffs up. “Well,  _ as leader—”  _

“No you don’t!” the blonde woman shouts.

The fifth scientist raises their hands and slowly backs away as those in the office start fighting and someone throws something. “...I’ll see who’s in the dorm lounge and ask there for help...”

Echo, meanwhile, meets up with Nick and Mongoose again and grins at them.

“So you got everything set up?” she asks.

“Everything’s going as planned,” Mongoose laughs. “This is fun. I like you guys.”

“Good, everything’s working,” Echo nods. “We just need to find Deeks and Rig and—”

“Found ‘em,” Nick interrupts, pointing behind her.

Rig and Deacon run past with Ninety still after them and gaining.

“Shit.” Echo tears off after the three of them with Nick and Mongoose following.

Ninety glances back at the sound of footsteps behind him. He growls and runs faster at Rig and Deacon.

“Damn—” Deacon skids to a stop with Rig slipping and crashing into the wall and broken window when the hallway ends with another hallway running perpendicular, with a bright red EXIT sign down one end of it. “Alright, we’re almost at the—”

Ninety tackles into Rig, sending them both through the window with  _ CRASH. _ Deacon watches in horror as they both roll down a hill into a “pit” below.

_ “Okay then!” _ he squeaks. “That just happened!”

“Don’t just stand there!” Nick shouts before sliding to a stop next to him while Echo and Mongoose already make their way to the exit. “The scientists are in-fighting and this place is likely going to go up in smoke with or without us in it.” He pushes Deacon towards the exit and gets him running, and the four of them hurry down after Rig and Ninety.

Ninety and Rig roll to a stop, both of them bleeding from the broken glass and sharp rocks, clothes torn or dirtied from the fall. Ninety drags Rig to his feet, one arm tight around him despite Rig’s struggles while the other hand fumbles for his knife. “Fuck this. Fuck the Pits.” He holds the knife to Rig’s neck, and Rig freezes and lets Ninety drag him back. “They make Gen 2s out of scrap? They make me and can’t even stop me from having emotions? They don’t even notice people infiltrating and  _ pitting _ them against each other? They’re incompent and I always hated them.” He glares at the other four as they come down the hill. “And fuck your  _ boyfriend. _ If it weren’t for him, I’d have had your undivided attention. I’m the only one here you can  _ trust. _ Why can’t you see that?”

_ “Knife,” _ Rig hisses. “Please— Let me go.”

“I liked you better the way Angle described you,” Ninety growls. “Quiet, obedient, intelligent. I can fix  _ one of those _ right now if you don’t do as I say. Do you want your voice box stabbed?”

Rig winces. “N-No...” 

“Then hold still a moment.”

Rig blinks when Ninety lets go of him for a moment, though the knife stays at his neck. He looks up at the Cherbridge campus and the sun rising behind it... If that is the sun. “...Why is there smoke...?”

“If I had to guess?” Ninety asks. “The Pits finally turned on each other and are going straight to hell.”

Rig blinks, but looks closer and sees the “sun” is the glow of a building on fire. “Oh— Are they going to get out...?”

There’s a click. Rig looks down to see a button in Ninety’s hand.

“...No,” Ninety says. “Not if that locked all the doors like it’s supposed to.”

Rig winces. “You’re killing them all?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Ninety growls. “After what they did? You wanted everyone there to die, didn’t you?”

“That’s— That’s not...” Rig looks up when the others approach, even Mongoose, though all four stop at the sight of the knife holding him hostage. “Hey—”

“You wanted them dead,” Ninety says, holding onto Rig again. “Go on. Tell your friends how violent you actually are. That you attacked one of the scientists unarmed and tried to kill him with your bare hands. How we had to pull you off of him and wash the blood off you.”

“No,” Rig says. “That’s not what—”

“Tell them how you sold them out for that stupid shirt of yours. How you agreed to do work with us just to keep your shirt. How you willingly did math and science for us just for your  _ shirt.” _

Rig looks over the others, expressions on their faces that he can’t recognize. “That’s not—! That’s not what happened!”

Ninety narrows his eyes. “Tell them about how you wrote a love poem specifically for  _ me.” _

“You’re a  _ jealous jerk _ and I  _ hate you,” _ Rig hisses. He winces when the knife pokes into his throat. “N— Ninety, please...”

“It must have been so  _ easy _ for you,” Ninety growls. “Heartless as you are. You woke up and everyone you knew was dead. So you just  _ moved on. _ You just stopped caring about your so-called  _ friends. _ Because it was suddenly more convenient not to miss them.”

Mongoose scowls. “Shut up...”

“And then you’re too selfish to admit your mistakes,” Ninety continues. “So you lead a pair of detectives on a wild goose chase you never were supposed to find the answers to. You dragged people into your lies for  _ what? _ It’s like you don’t even  _ realize _ how you could have put them in danger under false pretenses.”

Echo clenches her fists, sparks dancing across her knuckles. “That’s old news, Ninety. We knew the entire time. He wasn’t tricking us.”

“What about all the things he never told you he did?” Ninety demands. “Angle bragged all the time. Apollo Ray, such a great scientist. You could take the scientist out of a lab but he never stops being a  _ scientist. _ It doesn’t take away what he  _ did _ do. The ways he helped Transparency and Lab Legato.”

Rig winces. “I... forgot about Lab Legato...”

“See!” Ninety says. “He still hasn’t told you everything! And then there’s  _ ‘Deacon’. _ Why would you even bother with dating someone when you can’t even  _ love. _ And  _ I’m _ the synth, yet  _ you _ don’t feel basic human emotion? It must be so  _ easy _ for you, to have gotten so far by  _ lies _ and pretending to be human when you so clearly  _ aren’t!” _

“Wow,” Deacon frowns. “Look who’s projecting.” He risks a step closer. “Come on, Ninety, we can talk this through. We don’t need to hurt you. Just let Rig go.”

Ninety’s eyes flare. “Shut up! Shut  _ up! _ It’s not  _ fair! _ Why do you get to—? Why can’t I—?” The knife falls from his hand and hits the ground, with Rig scrambling away and back into Ninety’s chest. Ninety wraps his arms around Rig and buries his face into the back of Rig’s neck. “It’s not  _ fair. _ Everything was so  _ easy _ for you... You even got out without a fight! It’s not  _ fair.” _

“You’re crying...?” Rig looks to the others for help, but none of them seem willing to act just yet, save for Nick holding out an arm to keep Deacon from doing something, potentially something stupid while Ninety is still right on Rig. “You— Ninety...”

_ “What?” _ Ninety growls between his tears.

Rig looks at the knife at his feet and then looks up with dawning realization. “...You’re trying to manipulate me for sympathy.”

Ninety stops crying instantly.  _ “What?!” _ he demands.

“Aren’t you?” Rig asks. “Crying on me like this after— after how you’ve been treating me. Trying to make it seem like  _ my _ fault... Guilt-tripping me! I hate that!”

Ninety grips Rig tight. “...How else am I supposed to do this? You get everything  _ you _ want so easily. When you don’t even deserve it.”

Rig scowls and twists around, pushing Ninety away and stepping back. “No! Heck you! You think any of this was  _ easy _ for me? I’ve been experimented on by people claiming to want to help me! I’ve been hurt and manipulated my entire life! I finally have people who wanted to help me for  _ me _ because they  _ wanted _ to and you try to turn them against me! Transparency used me! Lab Legato was a  _ science magazine _ I submitted  _ poems _ to! And you— You— You  _ made me think Deacon was dead, you jerk! _ You let Pits hurt me and you threatened me and now you’re acting like you’re the victim? No! I don’t care if you  _ are _ genuinely upset and depressed or whatever!  _ You don’t get to gaslight me and con me into feeling sorry for you. _ You need  _ therapy, _ you need  _ help, _ but you don’t get to have that by hurting me or—” He motions up at the campus. “Or  _ killing people! _ I hate you! I don’t want you in my life! Get some therapy and learn to be a better person and  _ heck off so I never have to see you again!” _

Ninety scowls. “You little—!” He goes to lunge at Rig again, but stops from the warning shot at his feet. He looks up, notices all four of the others aiming guns at him, and he raises his hands and takes cautious steps back.

“Your call, Rig,” Echo says. “Does he get the chance to walk away alive, or does he shuffle off his mortal coil?”

Rig huffs up. “Right now? What I want is...” He holds his side as another wave of pain runs through his body. “I— Nng...” He falls to his knees and grips the ground.

“Ninety,” Deacon says across the ringing in Rig’s ears. “Do you know what NEO-74 is?”

“Did Maynard inject some into Apollo?” Ninety asks.

“Unrelated, just curious.”

“Let me live or I won’t tell you what I know.”

“...Fine, just tell me—”

“It’s good Maynard didn’t inject Apollo with it.  _ Or else he’ll fall asleep for another 200 years.” _

_ BANG—! _

Rig jolts at the sound and looks up to see a smoking gun as his eyelids start to fall shut. He sees Ninety fall, shouting expletives and holding his shoulder. He sees Deacon hurry up to him. He reaches to hold Deacon’s cheek... But he feels much too weak and slumps forward instead.

He can hear shouting, but... it’s much too quiet to wake him up...

* * *

A dreamless black, a mind grasping for awareness, a world outside his little head slowly succumbing to entropy... No, he thinks as he swims through the heavy pull of sleep.

Not again.

Not another two hundred years.

Not if he’ll wake up and everyone is gone a second time...

Not if Nick and Echo won’t be there... Not if Dogmeat is gone...

Not if... Deacon...


	15. Digression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short digression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to user DireDigression

Some days I just want to leave the world   
But I guess I already did that   
And if no Morpheus with 200 years of sleep   
Or chance of Death in its haunted creep   
Could take me from the things I could love   
Then what use is there to foul desire   
When others I know hold me by a wire   
A lover, an echo, and my favorite liar   
For them, I’ll return, no matter how dire


	16. Welcome Back to the Waking World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake up and face the world after. Things are ending for now but new things are beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to user DireDigression

A dreamless black, a mind grasping for awareness, a world outside his little head with a soft _tick. Tick. Tick._

He blinks his eyes open to a room lit in the burnt orange of low light and smoke stained walls. He steps out of bed and wanders to the yellow kitchen light.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

An empty house, some time alone... He fills up his kettle and starts the stovetop and preps a cup with a teabag.

_“make one for me too, please. milk and sugar.”_

“Sure,” he says, pulling down another mug and teabag. He stops and then turns around to see who spoke. A man dressed in black with a wide brim hat and a face obscured by flashing static like a broken TV. He stares and utters a “what...?”

_“milk and sugar,”_ the static man repeats.

“Oh, sure.” He turns back around to his now boiling kettle and pours the water. Now where’s his timer...?

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

_Ding!_

He jolts up with a soft _“my tea!”_ before realizing that this isn’t his home. This isn’t his bed. This isn’t—

Oh—! He picks up a bear propped next to him wearing sunglasses. This is...

“Oh,” he breathes out, pulling the bear into his arms. He looks around. Where is his...?

There, on the chair, is a familiar flamingo shirt, freshly cleaned and mended. He pulls it on over what seems to be a new set of shirt and pants from who knows where. He gets his shoes on and slips out of the room.

“What do we do if he doesn’t wake up?” a voice filters out. “What do we do then?”

“He’ll wake up,” another voice says. “Just be patient.”

“It’s been three weeks!”

“It’s been three weeks?” he gasps, as he steps into sight.

“Rig!” Deacon jumps to his feet. “God dammit, I was going to have a fake beard ready and everything—”

“Deacon,” Nick groans.

“It’s been two days,” Echo answers. “Glad to see you up. Want some tea?”

Rig blinks but nods. “Um... Am I... awake?”

Deacon walks up to him. “Need proof you’re awake?”

Rig frowns. “If you kiss me, I’ll be upset.”

Deacon smiles and pulls him into a hug. “No kisses guaranteed! That’s the Deacon promise.”

Rig grins and leans into the hug. “It _is_ you. My thought brain mind think couldn’t words that.” He stops and then pouts. “Still waking up.”

“Yeah, I—” Deacon laughs and holds Rig a _bit_ tighter. “I know.”

Rig glances up. “...Crying?”

“Nooo,” Deacon insists, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m nooot.”

Rig slips an arm off of Lil’ Deacon and wraps it around Deacon’s back and buries his face into his shoulder. “It’s okay to cry now, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“Okay.” Rig holds Deacon and lets Deacon silently cry. Rig peeks up past Deacon’s shoulder at Echo and Nick and sends them a small wave.

Nick smiles and waves back. Echo sets a cup of tea down with a sugar bowl next to it. She sits down and grins at him... And he notices her sunglasses off and her eyes gray. He blinks and then pulls back to look at Deacon’s face and the fact his sunglasses are still on. He reaches up and wipes tears from Deacon’s cheek.

“Hey,” Rig says.

“Hey yourself,” Deacon grins.

“I’m allowed to say ‘I love you’ right?”

“...Yeah,” Deacon squeaks.

“Okay.” Rig pauses a moment. “...I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

“Yet,” Rig clarifies. “But... I do. I think. Maybe. What is love? We just don’t know.” He continues to hold Deacon’s cheek and then lets go to point at the table. “I want that tea now, if that’s okay.”

Echo snrrks and covers her mouth. Nick smirks and mumbles “priorities.”

“Oh, sure,” Deacon lets go, though he keeps a hand on Rig’s arm as he guides him to the table. “So, sleeping beauty, have any nice dreams?”

“Yeah, I dreamt of a really attractive man,” Rig says as he takes a seat.

“Oh?” Deacon prompts.

“Yeah,” Rig nods. “But whatever. Dreams are weird.” He mixes sugar into his tea and looks around the table. Echo slides a container of milk his way and he smiles and adds some to his tea. “So... Um...” He sips his tea and looks around at the three of them. “What. Happlend.”

“I shot Ninety,” Echo says.

“Oh, good,” Rig says. He frowns. “Um. Did— Did he die?”

“Well...” Echo hums. “Define _die.”_

“...Okay.”

“He wasn’t giving us answers about what you were injected with,” Nick says. “I doubt he even knows. But with you unconscious and the Pits on fire we were trying to get out of the way when it collapsed down the hillside and he escaped.”

“Great,” Rig sighs. “Oh well. And... Mongoose was there...”

“Went back to Buttonwood to meet up with her sister,” Echo answers. “Told her we’ll let her know when you wake up.”

“But she helped save me?” Rig clarifies.

“Yep,” Deacon answers. “Part of the plan and everything.”

“...Great,” Rig says. “But we. Don’t know what got put in me so... Do we worry about it now or later? Is there notes on it anywhere?”

“Not that we could find with the Pits destroyed like that,” Nick says. He scoffs. “Besides, they didn’t know how organize any of their files.”

“Yeahhhhh,” Rig sighs. “They never did...”

“But we’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Echo says. “If anything weird starts happening, you let us know, and we’ll see if we can figure out how to take care of it. Until then, don’t stress about it.”

Rig nods. “Okay. Um...” He looks around, trying to remember what else he needs to address. “...Where’s Dogmeat?”

“With Ellie today,” Nick says. “Which reminds me...” He grins. “Whenever you’re feeling up to it, we’ll get you working with her to learn her filing system to take over as the Agency’s new secretary. We’ll need someone competent once she leaves, especially now with _three_ detectives on the payroll.” He nods towards Deacon.

Deacon waves. “Detective Dee, at your service. Here to solve crimes and fight mysteries.”

Rig grins. “Oh! Nice! I’m...” He holds Lil’ Deacon a bit tighter and blinks when something brushes his arm. “...Huh.” He lifts Lil’ Deacon and looks over the old fabric tag on its back. He squints down at the faded marker. “4 APOLLO”

“Rig?” Deacon asks.

Rig blinks up at him. He sets Lil’ Deacon in Deacon’s lap and then leans over to wrap his arms around him. “Love you,” he mumbles.

Deacon turns red and pats Rig’s hand. “...Neat.” After a bit of silence, he shifts and pulls something from his pocket. “Hey, actually...?” He slides it in front of Rig. “Got you something...”

Rig’s eyes widen. He flips through the “new” journal and the pages already filled with new Deaconisms, some rewrites of his old, better poems, and a few of the sketches paperclipped in from his old journal. “You... I...” He wraps his arms around Deacon again and gives him a small peck on the cheek. “Thank you— Thank you.” He sniffles and tries not to cry. Cries a lot. Soaks his tears into Deacon’s shoulder, but he smiles and holds on tight. “Thank you.”

Deacon smiles, and reaches up to pat Rig’s head. “Love you too, Rigsby. Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Dire ;>
> 
> And thank you to everyone who read this. ♥ It's been a fun ride and it's bitter sweet it's over, but I'm happy that all of you joined me for it. And perhaps... There will be a sequel? :3c We shall see...

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What Do You Get When You Add a Poet and a Mentats-Buzzed Founding Pirate?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928740) by [DireDigression](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DireDigression/pseuds/DireDigression)




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